Canzone Outtakes
by philadelphic
Summary: Other points of view and outtakes from La canzone della Bella Cigna.
1. Under her spell chapter 9 EPOV

**Under Her Spell…**

**A/N This goes with the final part of chapter 9 (I put a Spell on You) of La canzone della Bella Cigna. If you haven't read it, this won't make much sense. Thanks to NelsonSmandela for the on-the-road beta!**

**Don't own Jaques, Nina, Edward.**

* * *

**youtube (dot) com/watch?v=TI8F6DbB2cE**

**EPOV**

_Ne Me Quitte Pas_, by Jaques Brel (sung by Nina Simone, translated crappily by yrs trly**)**

_Ne me quitte pas / _don't leave me

_Il faut oublier _/ have to forget

_Tout peut s'oublier / _all you can forget

_Qui s'enfuit deja_ / it's over already

_Oublier le temps _/ forget the times

_Des malentendus_ / of misunderstandings

_Et le temps perdu _/ and the lost time

_A savoir comment _/ to know how

_Oublier ces heures _/ to forget the hours

_Qui tuaient parfois _/ which sometimes kill

_A coups de pourquoi / _the reasons why

_Le coeur du bonheur _/ the heart of joy

* * *

Heart of joy.

Nina Simone is taunting me from beyond the grave with some harsh truths, and Bella won't go to sleep. It shouldn't matter, because I am not going up there tonight. I will keep her safe from here, down in the shadows of her house. Of course, it's easier to protect someone when you can see her. I can barely hear her heartbeat, and her whisper is too soft even for my ears, eclipsed by the sad song coming from her window.

Now I just want her to go to sleep, to speak. To say my name again, with a sweet sigh, as she never will again if she truly realizes what I am.

_I think._

How careless I've been. As many times as I've slipped, as close as I've come to staying to watch her eyes open in the morning, it's almost like I want her to know. If she knows, and fears me, this will end. If she tells me to go, even from the depths of her subconscious mind, I will leave her and never return. It used to be my biggest fear—that Bella would find out what I am. I knew that the moment she saw me as a vampire, the trust and fascination always lingering in her fine expression would melt into terror and disgust.

Now I am not so sure, and my carelessness shifts in intent as well. She told him—yes, _used **that** word_—told Jacob Black right here in this forest. Not far from where I stand, she actually said that even if I were a vampire, she would rather kiss me above him or anyone else. She said it. Did she mean it? That odious, rude, loathsome boy believed her. What I would have given to be able to hear her thoughts just then. What I would have given to silence his.

She's been circling around the truth ever since that night in the alley when I fought the vampire who ran away before I could find out who he was. _He _did terrify and disgust her. She dreams of him sometimes, shaking with fear; she calls out for me to help her. God help me, but I go to her every time. I cannot bear the thought of her sleeping when I'm not around, in case she has a nightmare, and I'm not there to save her from him. Even if it is only in her sleep, I have to save her. This is my excuse. I started watching over her to protect her from him. When he didn't return, I told myself he could be aware of my careful watch and waiting for his chance. I haven't picked up a trace of his scent since that night, but he still hunts her in her dreams. I would be there to stop him every time. Amazing how devoted I've become, considering how we began. Even with my perfect memory, it's difficult to remember what it felt like when I didn't trust her.

I am long past thinking she could be a plant, some lure sent here by the Volturi to bring me under Aro's control. Carlisle had made some subtle inquiries, and there was no known way for anyone to predict who another vampire's singer might be. For a while I thought she could have been sent to me for her confounding talent, but I have no way of knowing if she would be as silent to Aro as she is to me.

I once suspected her to be as ruthlessly ambitious as her teacher, but her love of music doesn't come from the ego. I strongly doubt she's prepared for the success for which Professor George grooms her. Every suspicion I had about her true nature dissolved when I saw her with her classmate, bringing her gently out of panic. I couldn't read Bella's mind, but Angela's was an accurate enough measure. Bella had no reason to help her, besides compassion. Angela had fallen asleep in class, and when she awoke she had truly been in despair over the certain loss of her scholarship. In that moment, Bella was her angel, saving her from the death of her most treasured dream.

Now it's my turn to play angel for her, even if what I'm saving her from is my most treasured dream: Bella with me, as my mate. Bella like me, black eyes instead of brown, embracing Carlisle and Esme as father and mother, hunting with me and her blood calling to me no longer. There will be no monster version of Bella. She is too good for my fate.

I hear the familiar sound of an old German engine as a car approaches her street, and climb the tree once more to hide in the branches. Her window is open, just a crack, but the curtains are obscuring my sight. I can see her silhouette, bending over her bed, taking something out of a box. I inhale her post-shower scent. Delicious, warm Bella.

I know the car before I see it. Lovesick Jacob Black has driven past her house twice tonight, filled with jealous curiosity, about me.

I cannot help but feel shameful, delightful satisfaction at his thoughts. It's _his_ turn to wonder if _I _kissed her, and whether or not she liked it. I can see her in his mind's eye as he crossed paths with her earlier in the day. Surprise at seeing her in elegant clothes and subtle makeup. Curiosity about her excitement, and finally jealousy as he correctly guessed she was going to see me. He stares longingly at her window, but does not stop.

Silence, except for the whisper of the trees, and the vanishing engine as the horrid boy drives away. _Yes, go. Run along._

My own music now, for her. This is how she feels safe enough to go to sleep.

I keep my promise and stay in the tree, listening for her steady breath and heartbeat. Soon, however, I hear her moan faintly. Could she have a fever? I knew she wasn't warm enough. It's all my fault.

Without consciously making the decision, I am in her room. I am at her side, inhaling her scent, my lips hovering just over hers. Her hair is wild, dark, and swirling against the white pillowcase. Her cheeks are flushed.

I won't touch her. Except to check for fever.

I will only watch her. Watch over her, that is. To keep her safe.

_and you are pure beside me as a sleeping ember_

She is. So warm, warmer than most, my little coal-bright girl in her faded t-shirts, blankets up to her chin.

"Edward," she says in her honey-thick sleep-talking voice. "The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses."

An invisible cord binds me to this girl. Lust, and thirst, and now _this. _I will not say the word. I am not worthy of the word. I want to offer it to her in my way—from a distance. I move back to settle in the chair like so many times before, and look out the window at the moon shining through leaves. I want to hide a thousand paper cranes in the tree outside her window. I will guard her from here in this chair. Protect her.

She moans now … "Edward …" Her slightly open mouth hypnotizes me.

Without consciously making the decision to move, I am kneeling next to her again. Finding myself too close, I pull away just in time, again. This is getting ridiculous. I need to control this need to have my mouth on hers.

_I'm playing with fire, my little ember._

Even in her sleep, she looks disappointed. She frowns stubbornly and reaches for me, her arms dragging against the weight of her dreams.

The blanket falls away, and I cannot help but gasp.

_My mother sends me embarrassing lingerie_, she says in my memory.

Embarrassing? No, elegant, seductive. She is exquisite—no longer a girl; she is a woman, an enchantress. In this silk and lace, she looks more erotic than she could if she were naked. At least I think so, until she suddenly reaches down and takes the damned thing off entirely. I try to look away, but the deep blue shadows of the room in the moonlight make her skin glow, and her subtle, sensual beauty has me transfixed.

The dream has her, and her pulse is wild, frantic. It's clear by her movements and soft sounds she dreams of me, making love to her. I feel sick with envy, as absurd as that sounds. I am so insanely jealous of my dream self that I do not stop her as she moves instinctively into my arms.

"Bella," I sigh, straining to keep my touch light as a feather. I cannot keep from touching her. Her skin is so warm, soft and responsive to my touch in sleep as it was when she was awake. I bury my face in her hair and inhale her natural perfume. I always thought vampires couldn't get intoxicated, but I was wrong. I am drunk with Bella.

_This is wrong._ _This is so wrong_, I think, as she writhes slowly against my hands. I must stop. I must move away.

She moves abruptly, swerving her hip, and my hand is _there._ Only for an instant, my hand touches where I've never touched another creature in my life. I pull back reflexively, as if I touched fire … if fire were hot and slick and silky.

_Stop. This is so wrong. I am a monster, and now an incubus. I cannot let this happen to her. Not Bella. Not like this, not even with me._

If we're going to be together, she must at the very least be awake for it. Now I'm just giving her more secret reasons of why she should hate me. I force my hands to her shoulders to anchor me as I try to regain control over warring impulses.

She exposes her throat to me, eyes closed but moving beneath her silky lids, and once again my lips hover, nearly tickled by the whooshing rush of blood beneath the fine, warm skin. Her scent, her _scents_, overwhelm me, compete for my attention, and the traitorous thought comes unbidden for the first time since we were introduced.

_Nobody would know. You could take her, then drain her. Why suffer?_

Venom.

Life-stealing, paralyzing, vampire-making venom floods my mouth again.

_Or turn her and make her yours. Forever yours, and no one else's. _

An image of a transformed vampire-Bella, in much the same state of undress as this warm, vibrant, lovely girl in my arms tortures me. Am I really so selfish? Yes. My lips pull back from my teeth, and I feel the irresistible draw of my singer.

"Edward, love. Let me touch you_._" Her hands move, sleep-heavy, but not enough to touch me this time.

_Enough! _

I take her hips and place her firmly back tucked in her bed, quickly as I can. I move to put her gown back on for her, but the moment I touch the smooth silk, I know I do not have the strength to put it back on her and still leave her.

"Forgive me, my Bella" I sigh, cover her with the blanket and dash outside, quickly as a whisper, full of regret. I'm such a monster that I can't even trust myself to give her a chaste kiss on the forehead. As I shut the window nearly all the way, she murmurs.

"And now you are mine."

_I know. But you shouldn't be mine. _

The thought is almost physically painful. I came to her on the pretext of protecting her, but who protects her from me? Seventy years ago, it could have been Ephraim Black and the others.

The wolf in Jacob Black lies dormant, but I can still smell it in him. Would the dog lie sleeping if he sensed my presence, threatening the woman he loves? I imagine a changed Jacob, now taller and muscled as his ancestors, but just as obnoxious as he is today.

If he drives by again, I'm going to take out a tire.

_The hell I can't protect her_. I will. Protecting her now means hunting. It means staying far enough away that I won't touch her, and close enough so that nothing can hurt her, not even me.

_Ne me quitte pas._

Her scent lingers in my mind and on my body. There are more than enough reasons to kill the heart of joy, but my little ember of hope refuses to be snuffed out, as long as she sighs my name in her sleep.

I cannot lose her now.

_~*~_


	2. Love Games Chapter 7 Jasper & Alice

**A/N: This unedited outtake of chapter 7 (Gifts) is a present for MsKathy, who begged for it so prettily. **

**WARNING: Jasper and Alice are not nearly as innocent as Edward and Bella. This lemon tart reflects that. Also thanks to JoCarol Pierce, a lifelong friend and honorary aunt, for the quote from Alice's mom. **

_From Canzone: Ch: 7, Gifts: _

"_Alice has been teaching me," he explains, pausing to tune his violin to hers. "I've gotten obsessed with Bartok harmonic structures recently and found these violin duos. They're hot as hell. Or maybe it's just how I feel about making music jump off the page with my pretty little gypsy girl."_

_It's her turn to blush as she stacks the violin cases neatly under a tucked-away podium. He kisses her neck softly and slowly until the blush deepens and she kicks his shin._

"_You're in trouble, Mister," she warns menacingly, trying to compose herself._

"_Oh, I'm counting on it, Angel," he grins back. "After you."_

_They step up to a small platform and Jasper addresses the room. He somehow looks taller, blonder, and somehow glows, and everyone stops to stare without him having to do anything drastic to get everyone's attention. His voice seems louder than usual, but completely natural and absolutely at ease._

"_I'd like to thank everyone for coming to the Fine Arts Student Alliance holiday mixer, especially those of you who have worked so hard to help put it together. Alice and I would like to play a little song in appreciation."_

…_Alice and Jasper are utterly captivating. The music sounds Eastern European and has a sly, mysterious quality to it. Pretty soon it takes off into a glorious chase, and I see that Jasper is right. They aren't moving their feet, and they're fully clothed, but somehow they manage to infuse an undeniable eroticism into their duet. Alice plays the more challenging part gracefully, her body swaying subtly, making me think of a nymph in the woods. A coy smile plays on her face as Jasper's satyr line chases hers with relentless determination. His body bows slightly towards hers, and they seem more like a matching set than individual people, despite their differences in height and coloring._

_They're both charismatic performers apart, but together they light up the small dais as if it were center stage at the Met. The song ends, and the room erupts in raucous applause. Jasper kisses Alice lightly and lingeringly on the mouth, and I can almost feel a wave of vicarious lust pass over the crowd. I sneak a glance at Edward, who is indeed staring at me with a look that burns its way down to my toes. A few hoots from the audience finally get Alice's attention, as well as mine, and she laughingly gives me the signal._

"_Oops," I squeak, as though I've been caught looking at porn, and scamper off to the DJ booth. I barely make it in before an ambiguously gendered but decidedly goth-looking drama student can get to the iPod of Power. I manage to find a decent song to play while trying to recover Alice's play list._

"_Hey," she breathes, taking the iPod from me before I find it. "Thanks for saving us from more bad club music."_

"_No problem," I smile. "Alice, that was amazing! You guys were on fire up there."_

"_That man is wicked." She lets out a surprisingly deep, sexy laugh, and blushes. "He sometimes does that just to energize a performance. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm the only one who gets to see the amazing after-party, if you know what I mean. Performing in front of a crowd definitely turbo-charges his libido."_

← Ж →

"Home again, home again, jiggity jig," he said, staring at Alice's perky ass as she skipped through the open door to their apartment.

Jasper held the door open for his wife, even though it was a bit awkward, as his arms were loaded down with several heavy cartons of audio equipment. He always held the door open for a lady. It was the way his mother brought him up, and, as his father always said behind his mother's back, it was an excellent excuse to get a good look coming _and _going. Smart man, his father.

As much as he'd provoked her tonight, he almost expected her to start stripping immediately, as she liked to do when he got her flustered in public. She'd walk in the door, chattering away as usual. He'd know he had pressed the right buttons when she'd neglect to put her shoes away immediately. If she took her top off _before_ her shoes, he knew he was in for a ride, and she'd probably want to do all the riding. If she wore heels and didn't take them off at all, well, he knew she was game for just about anything.

Tonight, she neither stripped nor took her shoes off, as she normally would, stacking them neatly in one of those flat IKEA shoe jobbies next to the door. She went straight for her laptop instead, booting it up and digging around in that girly antique writing desk she loved so much.

Curious, confused, but undaunted, he kept his eyes on her as he deposited his cartons and locked the door, careful to use both deadlocks and the chain as well. When she wasn't home, he'd just leave it unlocked. Her ass swayed, making the silky fabric of her skirt float becomingly around her legs, the hem rising and falling as she moved, just enough to keep him mesmerized for a moment until she cried out in triumph. Eyes narrowed on her lusciously draped derriere, he stalked over to her, prepared to interrupt whatever fuckery she had on her mind.

"Hah, I found it!" she held a non-descript looking cord, and sat down, narrowly missing his hands as he reached for her.

"Pictures can wait, Alice," he said smoothly, slowly drawing back the inky curtain of her hair to expose the golden column of her throat.

She pretended to ignore him as he nuzzled her neck, but he knew her body as well as his own. Her shiver gave her away, and he knew, if he looked, her eyes would be glassy and sparkling. He sniffed, and smiled darkly at the mix of her natural scent mixed in with the perfume she wore when she especially wanted to get some. She knew the scent of _Lolita Lempicka _made him crazy. He never took her when she first put it on though, because it only improved as the night wore on. A few hours of dancing and the difference would have him behaving like an animal.

It didn't hurt to know that she kept the shiny, apple-shaped perfume bottle nestled in with her sexiest lingerie, and that she only wore one when she was wearing the other. Wearing this perfume was like waving the red cape in front of the bull, and she knew it.

Hell, it was why she did it.

The first time she wore it he had taken her, rather roughly in fact, in a stairwell after a ballet where she played in the orchestra pit. It was Prokofiev, with some particularly suggestive, almost erotic staging. He was overwhelmed with lust, as he often was in large crowds watching something sensual, not that he'd ever tell anyone that. He had steered her away from the crowd and up a side staircase until he was reasonably sure nobody was around. Then he had reached up her skirt with one hand, up her blouse with the other and kissed her so thoroughly she hadn't had much chance to protest. Had she tried, he would have stopped, but he had worked every sweet spot he knew would work on her simultaneously: neck, nipple and nub, in hopes that she would forget her own name, let alone that they were in public. Part of him had been horrified at his actions until he felt how excited she was, how she moaned his name, how _she_ had been the one to unzip his pants and how she hadn't protested at all except when he had slowed down. That was, if he was totally honest, the night he first thought of asking her to marry him.

Ever since then, they'd fucked in public places several times, and had nearly gotten caught more than once. One of the bartenders at Keys had his suspicions, but Jasper thought he had played it off as just a little mild back-alley grab-assing fairly well. Jasper hoped she wasn't angry with him for waiting till they got home, but he didn't want to keep quiet after the party, and he didn't want any clothes getting in the way. He wanted wild, buck-nekkid, fuzzy handcuffs and blindfolds, swinging from the chandeliers sex, or as he liked to call it, _married _sex.

"Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul," he murmured, scraping his teeth lightly along her neck. He knew she loved it when he quoted Nabokov. Her perversions were always elegant, and her art always a little naughty, if you knew what to look for.

A little shiver nearly gave her away, but she too narrowed her eyes and kept focus as she uploaded the pictures from her digital camera to her computer. A file folder appeared on screen and images started to fill it in rapid, blinking succession.

"Hold on, I promised to send this picture out tonight," she said as the image of Edward and Bella popped up on the screen. She clicked on edit and took the red eye out. She noticed that Edward's was far worse than Bella's, which was weird, given they were in the same lighting. It was almost as if his whole eye was nothing but pupil. "Aww, don't they look adorable? Look at the way he's staring at her and she's just looking around, totally blind to how into her he is."

"Yes, it's amazing how oblivious some girls can be when you're trying to work your mojo on them."

She almost laughed at him, but kept her face still, opting to balance the contrast and brightness in the photo until Edward's hair color was just right. She didn't make a sound, not a moan or a squeak when his hot breath went into her ear, along with several dirty ideas he had for later. She didn't try to stop him when he reached under her shirt and pinched her nipples through her bra, but when he went for the clasp she suddenly needed to change the paper in the printer.

"Dammit, woman, I'm trying to get your attention here," he yelled in frustration, getting absolutely no reaction from her. "Now you said I was going to be in trouble, and I want some trouble. Either you're going to give it to me or I'm going to give it to you, but I want some monkeyfuckin' trouble!"

She quickly typed, adding a short line while the attachment loaded, and with her teeth sinking into her cheek to keep from laughing at his broadening southern accent she finally hit _send_.

"Jazz?" she asked in a conversational tone, as she ducked under the desk and emerged on the other side.

He had been too busy ogling her ass as her skirt rode up to realize she had put some chasing distance between them.

"Jazz, baby, would you say that I've been making it easy, or giving you _trouble_?"

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, letting his frustration take focus.

"Oh, you're in it now, little girl," he said, surveying the terrain.

Her eyes went wild with excitement, and she laughed, running out of range the moment just before he lunged for her.

She really wanted him to work for it tonight. She wanted him worked up. He changed tactics, hoping to confuse her. She knew he would.

"You think it's so fun to get me all wet for you and put me on stage, making me worry about getting the notes right, don't you?" she taunted, daintily hopping up on the kitchen counter as he took off his shoes and socks.

"It's like rosin on the bow, baby, you know you play better like that," he said, unbuttoning his pants first. His cock strained against his boxers, but he took his time, watching her as he folded his clothes very neatly and stacked them on the coffee table as if they belonged there.

She licked her lips as he got completely naked. He looked good naked- he played basketball frequently and had the physique to show it- long, lean muscles with power in the arms and shoulders. He had a somewhat rounded, muscular ass, and he knew how to move it. And in front, well, his cock stood out, also long, but thick and dark pink. He watched her eyes get huge as she stared at it, and walked calmly toward her.

She moved away at the last minute, and scampered out of the kitchen. It wasn't a big apartment, and he caught her after only two long strides into the hallway. He grabbed her by the ankle, then her waist, and dragged her to him, careful not to hurt her. He trapped her hands behind her back, and held them there with one hand as he took off her shoes with the other. Had there not been over a foot difference in their heights, this would have been impossible, but it was easy enough to manhandle her.

He tucked her ankles under his arm and snaked his hand around, tickling her ass through her silky tights until she laughed and squirmed in protest.

"Are you going to be good?" he demanded, biting at her tits through fabric.

"No, Jasper." She laughed.

He spanked her, hard, and she moaned.

_Good girl,_ he thought, and spanked her again.

"You've got a mouth on you, you know that?" he whispered in her ear.

"Yeah? Well, maybe you should put something in it, and see what happens."

He ignored her taunt and started unbuttoning her blouse with his tongue as she wriggled under his tickling hand. It took him forever to finish the first button. She needed more.

"Jasper!" she cried, now trying to angle her bottom to get more friction against her hand.

"Yes, Alice?" he asked, laughing at her as she struggled. "You want something, sweetheart?"

He was just playing with her, tickling when she wanted him to grind against her, slowly unbuttoning when she needed him to rip. The second button came undone.

She went quiet and completely still. He gave her a deep blue look, and raised his eyebrow.

"You want something, sweetheart?" he repeated, lower and huskier. He looked up at her from her solar plexus, just going to work on the third button.

"Stop teasing me," she pouted, her lower lip sticking out.

She made him feel like a major pervert when she did that. He sat up, ran his hand three times around her ass like she was some kind of genie, or the bottle the genie came out of, and grabbed the waistband of her tights and her underwear at the same time. He quickly undid the remaining buttons of her blouse with the other hand, and ran his hand inside her bra, taking a nipple and pinching it until she moaned again.

"You want me to stop teasing you?" he asked, pressing his cock against her side.

She nodded.

"You want me to fuck you?" he demanded, sliding the silky fabric down over her legs.

"Yesssss."

He still held her tightly, but when he got the tights and underwear out of the way, she twisted around, and managed to get her legs apart and around his waist. She was so sly. She licked his chest and bit _his _nipple, panting and trying to angle herself so that his cock could slip in. She almost got him, too.

He wasn't helping her.

"Tell me," he teased, unclasping her bra. He took it off and swung it over his head in a big circle and threw it across the room. "Tell me what I want to hear, or I'll just tickle you all night!"

"Sadist," she muttered, and gasped when he plunged his fingers inside her. He hooked one finger in to her G-spot, but didn't follow through.

"Please, please fuck me, you big, strong beast of a man," she said in an exaggerated version of her original Mississippi accent.

"Beast, is it?" he whispered, grinning now because she had given in.

"Mama always said, men are like wild animals, and you have to capture one of them to protect you from the other men," she said in a perfect imitation of her mother.

"Mary Alice Brandon, that's serious men business," he said with an exaggeratingly condescending tone. "It's not something to talk about like a game. You know if someone were to even think about hurting you I'd have to rip his head off and fuck his eyesocket. It's part of the man code."

She raised her eyebrow, as if to challenge him, but he again wiggled his finger to remind her he knew exactly where it was, and exactly what to do with it. She moaned, giving up a second time, whispered "Please, Jasper!"

As she did he dove down quickly, hooked her legs around his head and worked her clit with his tongue, hard and fast. She bucked her hips against his hand and squealed, high and for a long time when he finally hit her spot.

Her back arched and he had to hold on while she inadvertently went into some advanced yoga pose, her hips rising and rising off the floor. He grabbed her hips with his free arm and kept going, determined to fuck her absolutely senseless tonight. He had to get her little body completely relaxed before he could, and this was the fastest way he knew how.

Her head lolled on the carpet, thrashing as her whole upper body flushed pink.

"Cock, Cock!" she gasped, and he quickly took his fingers out and repositioned himself, keeping her ankles over his shoulders.

He thrust halfway into her and she gasped, moaning as he struggled to keep his composure, keeping the thrusts shallow for the moment. When she came on his tongue and on his hand it always excited him a little too much, and he was already too close. Jasper Whitlock had a twenty minute minimum standard (at home, anyway) to protect, and he wasn't going to jeopardize it for….

"Fuuuuuuuuuck!" he bellowed as she laughed and thrust herself the rest of the way on to him. She locked her ankles around his neck and managed to pump against him from below somehow, using her arms for leverage. She thrust against him again, _hard, _and his body took over, slamming into her as he came. She came again, panting and squealing as she pulsed around him.

He slowed down, resting his forehead against hers as his ass pumped out his final pulsing spurts.

"That's one for me and two for you," he said, smiling flirtatiously with her to let her know he was nowhere near finished. "What say we take this party into the shower?"


	3. Pure and Endless Light, EPOV from Ch 4

**The EPOV Chapter 4: Pure and Endless Light**

**Special thanks to Sariedee, for buying and choosing this outtake in the FGB auction, and generously sharing with everyone. Thanks also to the Betaerrific Nelsonsmandela! Next EPOV: chapter 12.**

**Chapter Music**

**Liszt, Sonata in B minor**

**youtube(dot)com/watch?v=vCF8C5U7Pco**

**Debussy, Arabesque #1:**

**youtube(dot)com/watch?v=GWpV7L4YHuU**

**(A MUST PLAY for Dr. George's nostalgia fantasy:)**

**Luciano Pavarotti sings "Questa O Quella" from Verdi's **_**Rigoletto**_

**Youtube(dot)com/watch?v=2l5q9QgjojM**

**Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 17 in D minor, played by Wilhelm Kempf**

**Youtube(dot)com/watch?v=LfjD-DQ5REk**

I love the recital hall on Saturdays. The only thoughts around focus on music, and come from far enough away that they're incredibly easy to ignore. To read them, I'd have to cast out for them as if fly-fishing. I cannot stop my mind from automatically casting for the thoughts of the girl, with her silent mind and her screaming blood.

Silent mind, _singing_ blood, and soft, fragrant, deliciously warm skin … not that I'd ever touched her. I had only read the baritone's mind when he had touched her shoulders in a semi-innocent offer of comfort, and now I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to touch her myself. But it's not a good idea.

_Do not touch the girl. Do not touch the girl. Do not touch the girl. _

_Do _

_Not_

_Touch._

_No touching Bella._

I repeat the mantra silently, keeping time with Liszt, who clearly understands me. At first the tempo hesitates, stutters, but after a long while, it flies, fast as a hummingbird's wings. The words run laps around my mind as my fingers chase them with the notes in an attempt to create a well-worn track I can retreat to when my thirst for her blood and my growing desire to _touch the girl _collide, and remind me of what I am, and why I deserve no such pleasure. As if I need a reminder, as if my memory weren't perfect, with its crystal clarity.

As if I don't count each strand in the dark forest of her hair, taking a mental walk through it with hands in my pockets, wanting only to run my fingers through the vast spectrum of warm, deep mahogany and black walnut to the dark cherry that was visible only in the sunlight, or to the perfect eyes of a vampire predator, like me.

At least my new mantra seems better than the first one: _Do not _kill_ the girl._ No longer so necessary.

Although, that's still there, too, isn't it? I barely even think of it anymore, though the first few days were rough. I'd walk around a corner in the music building, and there it would be—her scent and my thirst, just like a hidden backwards trap—meant to turn me into the hunter and her into prey, against my wishes. Now I welcome it, since every time I resist it's just more proof that she's safe with me. Maybe I even crave the scent, even if I am resisting. Like a diabetic burning sugar cookie candles.

I wonder when she'll come. Did she even know I was there, at the bar?

I know she didn't give that man her phone number, as he had hoped. I can still see her through his eyes, making polite conversation. She didn't really want to speak to him, did she? She didn't look at him as she looks at me, with her expressive eyes and her quick blush whenever I catch her admiring glances … not that I deserve any admiration, least of all from her. I know _he_ didn't deserve her. That's what I told myself when I started playing the Schubert back to her, mixed with the songs she had just played. I didn't know if she would react to it, but she did. She tried—how she fought the crowd to get back to the piano, not knowing I could see her, and had no intention of letting her see me.I watched her through the eyes of others, her face a fuzzy, unsatisfying prism through myriad human eyes as she tried to swim upstream.

No, she is not for him. Not my Bella. I told her that through the music, and she listened to me, at least in some part of her mind. It is the only part of me worthy of touching her, if only in the notes of music written by other men. I will allow myself only this: to tell her all these forbidden thoughts, anything I want to tell her, in a way she can only partly understand. Always in the music, never in the flesh. Ears and eyes, not hands. Definitely not mouth. _Jesus, no._ Not the mouth. Nowhere near these teeth for my Bella.

What a horrifying thought.

_Not my Bella_, I tell myself, ignoring the deep protest sounding inside my mind and body. _Fight it all you want, but you will never be what's best for her. Take your crumbs and be content that you can help her in any way at all. _

I see her leave her practice room through the eyes of a trombonist in the space across from hers, then a reflection in the mirror through the eyes of a gifted pianist from my studio, barely noticing Bella as he practices and thinks of my recent performance with admiration and jealousy. I watch Bella as she enters the elevator, through the eyes of a conducting student, whose thoughts are heavy with a Britten score he fears he cannot master. Conveniently for me, he stares at her back without thinking precisely of her, but focuses more on the pattern of the waves in her hair, and how it relates to the time signature changes in the score. I'd thank him personally for giving me such a view if it wouldn't seem strange.

I lose sight of her as they part ways, and I can hear only the faintest sound of her sneakers on tile, briefly in stereo through the conductor's finely tuned ears and my own, then only in my own as the soft sound comes closer, joined by the drumbeat of her heart and the nearly inaudible, slightly humid rush of air into her lungs. I've never listened more closely to any human before, and yes, I hear these things. The air in her lungs, the faintest brush of her skin, her clothes on anything … and always, always I hear the blood rushing through her veins, daring me to take a full, deep breath in her presence.

Will she go to the balcony again? Will she shyly enter, and sit as close as she did before? Will some part of her realize I am not to be trusted, and stay away, even as my music beckons to her?

_Do not touch the girl. Do not tell her. Do not use your voice they all find so seductive and silky, even when you're just telling someone what time it is while they hide their watches and cell phones, ask for directions to places they already know. Do not think of how easy it would be to charm her, when she looks at you with her wide eyes and racing heart thrumming faster whenever you come near. Do not think of her glorious, impossible scent- do not even breathe when she is near. _

_Do not think of how warm her skin would feel._

_Think about how cold your dead skin would feel to her. _

_Do not touch Bella Swan. Monster._

That does it.

_Just remember why she's here. She's here for music, so give it to her. _

And I do. I pour everything into it, half-consciously choosing the music that speaks words I can't allow myself to say.

As I hear her heart, beating faster with each approaching step towards the recital hall, I play the first thing that comes to mind, Debussy's _Arabesque No. 1_, and I take a deep breath of the stale air. I can taste just the faintest trace of her in it, so faint that it barely even burns, leaving only the gentle promise of ecstasy. Ecstasy like the fluttering deep blue edge of a silk dress. I hold my traitor mind and tongue, swallow the venom, and let my thoughts speak only through my fingers on the keys. I know she won't understand—she couldn't possibly understand, so I put everything into it as the delicate notes whisper my adoration.

_Bella, you are. _Bella_. _

_You are beautiful. _

_You sing to me, in every way but one. You are subtle as the moon behind a cloud, and just as silent. Even your silence is beautiful, drawing me in, making me listen even more. You, in your ringing silence, glow. I want to listen to your every thought. Would you ever speak them to me in your soft, shy voice? Would your ideas glow like your skin, glow softly in your deep brown eyes? How will you surprise me next? Come to me. _

No, stop it.

_Do not come. It's not safe._

As if on cue, she arrives, and surprises me again by diving straight under the piano. For an instant, I see the glorious flash of ecstasy on _her_ face, her smile true and bright, her dark eyes lit from within. I quickly check my memory, and no, this wasn't the expression she wore on her way from the practice room at all. She was anxious, and now she seems enraptured. I allow myself a small smile, happy to have made her happy, even in this short moment. I allow myself a small breath, and welcome the blistering burn, just to remind myself of what I am, and why I can't push for more.

_Don't look._

I hear the rustle of pages, and know that she reads. Curious about what book she might be reading, I look anyway, only to see her dark hair spilling silky all around my feet as they press on the pedals. Brass and mahogany and a tiny portion of her face where the book doesn't cover… just the pale of her skin and the contrast of her hairline and graceful eyebrow. The corner of the book now, yes, I'm leaning a bit, she won't notice. From the combination of letters I think it must be _Jane Eyre_.

I close my eyes and fight the urge to speak to her. The irony does not escape me. Romance, a young, innocent girl and a Byronic hero—a man with a secret. Unlike Rochester, I will not press my suit, but like him, I will hide my shame.

I will hold her in my mind alone, images of Bella in my crystalline, perfect memory. Someday, this will end, and I will have these memories. Greedily, I count my catalogue, going backwards.

_Bella, Saturday._ Now. Underneath my piano, reading Jane and Rochester, and listening to me and Debussy, silent, looking like a kid, like she always does on weekends, gloriously natural in her jeans and cotton shirt, her face scrubbed clean and her hair falling around my feet.

_Bella, Friday._ Helping Angela Cheney like an angel. Confessing her worries to Jasper and Alice at the bar, then singing her soul out at the piano, first about her fears, and then at my request, about my own dreams. Seeing her through his eyes as I fought jealousy and lost, drawing her back to the piano with my response, only to run away like a convicted criminal when she returned. That was the second time jealousy came to pay a humiliating visit to me, after one hundred years of nothingness. The first time had been the day before.

_Bella, Thursday._ Master class. Blue fluttering dress, skin glowing like a candle, lit from within by her perfect, flaming soul. I was not the only one who noticed. More than one person thought she looked the part of the Virgin Mary, or the sweet and brave Michaela from Bizet's opera _Carmen_. Speculation about Bella's innocence gave me the first hint into Professor George's mind that she was ignorant of his scheming. He had been thinking about an unusually lovely painting, an icon of a Madonna that I had never seen before, one that he had seen in person, in some church in Italy. The face in the painting did look a bit like Bella's.

_If she hurries up and gets good while she still looks like that, the Italians will go mad for her, _he had been thinking. _She'll have to be led a bit, but she seems like a worker bee. Look at her, all shy and trying not to look at Edward. Poor thing, her crush is so obvious, and he just sits there, pretending to be oblivious as he plays, but for whose team nobody knows. _

I had been completely stunned at his odd train of thought. He had been so intent on getting us together that I hadn't realized she wasn't so much in on the plan as an unknowing part of it. But then, all these images of Bella cropped up in his mind, sneaking glances at me and hiding her face whenever I came near her. The images accompanied memories I had of her heart racing, and I had assumed it had been instinctual fear that had inspired it, but now all of that was thrown into question. Stealing my own glance at her, I only needed a second to seal her face and form in my mind. She did, in fact, look as innocent as she was beautiful. Quiet, contemplative, mysterious. Lovely.

_My own icon. Adored from a safe distance. Revered, admired. Maybe it will keep me from touching her to think of her this way._

The room was noisy with thoughts as I played, each singer focusing on almost anything but the uncomfortable tenor on stage singing Schumann. I was trying to monitor Dr. George's thoughts, to see if he had any specific plans for her, but his mind had already drifted into one of his favorite memories. Or a fantasy mingled with memory and replayed so often it seemed like a memory. I honestly can't tell, with him. At any rate, this vivid, Technicolor vision was quite something. He was riding around in a chariot, in his prime, and looking rather handsome, if he did think so himself. He had on a toga and a golden Laurel wreath, smiling like an ancient conquering hero coming home to triumph and celebration, singing one of the Duke's big arias from _Rigoletto. _It was difficult to tell if this was a true memory of a performance, or if the man had some subconscious wish to be an emperor who also happened to have a fantastic tenor voice. Dr. George's fantasies of power and glory were so ornate, I wouldn't put it past him. It was really hard to tune out, but I gave it a shot.

I almost felt sorry for the comparatively pathetic tenor singing, as I was the only one remotely paying attention to him, and my attention was only partly on him and his partially memorized train wreck of a song. The rest of my attention was on Bella, and what I could see of her through the eyes of others. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as my own vision, but the haziness of human sight was worth the anonymity. And I couldn't afford to get into the habit of staring at her.

I had been playing when _it_ happened, allowing my fingers to play from memory as I closed my eyes and my thoughts and focused on Bella's face. I could also see her profile, in the mind of a baritone sitting next to her. His thoughts were also speculative about her innocence, and kind of crude. His decision to "test the waters" had been an impulse, and his next thought was an impression of her warm skin under his hands as he rubbed her shoulders, quickly followed by the observation that she was uncomfortable. He noticed, and stopped, but didn't take his hand away.

I realized I was seeing them both with my own eyes, when everyone had quite nearly the same thought at once: _Did Edward Cullen just make a mistake?_ It was worth it, to have her looking at_ me _when another man was trying to get her attention. Until he noticed that I had noticed, and Dr. George's Roman Imaginary Operatic Orgy got interrupted by a moment of self-congratulations as he figured I had a "thing" for Bella after all. Just another leaf in his laurels.

_And never enough, eh, Emil?_

"Sorry," Robbie had whispered, making one last attempt. "I should have asked first."

_And I'm sorry I'll have to hurt you, Robbie, _I had thought, as she murmured some ridiculously placating remark. Were she able to discern what he was thinking at that moment, she would have slapped him. Then he had the nerve to ask _then_ if she, in fact, did want a neck rub after all, and I very seriously contemplated following him home until several people noticed and actually worried for his safety.

Fortunately for him, Bella politely refused, and this time he at least acted like a gentleman, even if he didn't think like one.

"_La Bella Cigna, sei pronta?_" Dr. George's mind was filled with images of an Italian city, all sunshine and stone on a hill.

It was only after he insisted she take Italian in the following semester that his thoughts began to take form.

He was picturing Bella there, in Volterra, speaking Italian and performing on a ratty-looking stage. In his mind, the scene shifted to a much younger Emil George, not yet professor, nor famous, but ambitious. Always. In his mind, young Emil George very gallantly presented young Isabella Swan to one shadowy figure from his memory to another, introducing her to the teachers and students he had known in the early 1960s.

One face stood out slightly sharper in his memory, and that face stunned me, because I knew it from a painting in Carlisle's study. Dr. George shuddered slightly at the memory, but out of habit noted that he couldn't figure out exactly why the representative of the Volterra Fellowship had made him uneasy, only that he did. In his mind, he hesitated briefly before introducing my singer to the most powerful vampire in the world.

_One very God-damned Aro. _

Of course he would have met a vampire at some point, if only at a performance. Of course it would be Aro, with his famous love of music, his mania for opera in particular. Carlisle had told me that Aro likes to pay personal attention to his recruits. Part of why I had come back to the U.S. before the rest of the Cullens was to escape Aro's inquiries about my own talents, musical and otherwise. Although Carlisle spoke highly of Aro, he worried about what would happen if I were to meet him. He believed the ancient vampire would try to collect me. It was much easier to feign politeness from halfway around the world.

What would happen if Dr. George's little fantasy came true? In his mind, he was receiving Bella's praise and all the credit for her discovery. In his mind, her voice was more developed, her personality altered into one nearly precisely like his own. Vague then, unlikely?

I knew what to do with Bella Swan here, in school. I was to refrain from killing her, and make music with her, and that was it. But what if her blood appealed to the amoral vampires in Volterra as it did to me? She'd be dead within 12 hours of arrival. As she passed the piano, I caught her scent in a Doppler Effect, the waves of it rocking my foundation as I imagined her locked in the vicious embrace of another immortal, one who wouldn't think twice about resisting such a tantalizing aroma. I would never let that happen. But, how? Find a way to sabotage her chances of winning? That seemed cruel. Follow her, protect her? Was it worth exposing myself to Aro's grasp?

_Yes_. She would never need to know I was there. Nobody would need to know. I could stay hidden, just guarding her. An odd thing to do, but I had nothing but time. Guarding Bella for one human lifetime seemed like time well spent. Not to mention how much high school I could miss that way.

I got lost in the gentle sway of her dress against the delicate curve of her calves, until her heart started racing even faster than it had before. Our eyes met, and I realized yet another mistake—I had no idea what she wanted to sing.

_God_, then she came closer, bringing her Doppler Effect with her like the siren she was. She leaned in to whisper, but it felt like an invasion, and I was terrified of losing control right then, with her neck so close to my mouth, her hair so close to my fingers. I honestly didn't know what was worse, the pooling of venom in my mouth, or the overwhelming urge to plunge my hands in her hair and … just hold her.

And then she spoke in Italian to me, as she could not to Emil George just a moment before. It was the name of a song, one commonly given to freshmen for the diagnosing of various vocal weaknesses: _Se tu m'ami_. A pleasant, if overused, song about a fickle lover. All I heard when Bella whispered the title as her scent assaulted my will and her eyes searched mine for any trace of a soul was the translation.

_If you love me._

Just hearing those words from her mouth, in any language, I found myself waiting to hear what she wanted. _Tell me, Bella. What would you have me do, if I love you? Anything. Tell me anything, and I'll do it, as long as it keeps you safe and makes you happy._

She stirs under the piano, stirring me out of my memory by silencing Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester in favor of Bella Swan and Edward Cullen. It was almost too bad, knowing we could never be together like the other Edward and his Jane. Their story had a happy ending.

All of this covert watching, the indirect glances make me feel like the mythical version of the vampire, avoiding direct sunlight. It's now, when she's standing before me in my direct line of vision and singing that I feel the pull, and I wonder who is in more danger from this attraction. If I am not her hunter, then I am the moth to her flame. Slowly, so slowly, her glow begins to burn so brightly that I have to look away.


	4. For All My Faults, Chapter 12 EPOV

**Ch. 12: For All My Faults EPOV**

**A/N: Thanks to Fuzzybunny322 for commissioning this chapter in TFGB charity auction, and again, to Oxymoronic8, who let me use her kill number from IVO for Edward. Thank you to Feisty, for a quickie comma reduction and damned fine suggestion. Any errors left in are not her fault. Seriously.**

**Official Chapter Music**

**Chopin: No. 4: **_**Étude in C-sharp minor**_**"Torrent"**

**youtube(dot)com/watch?v=p0wMR1Qadpw**

**~*~**

"_I'll figure out a way to protect you. Just know __that. Before you know everything else and never want to see me again."_

She pulls away, as innocence should pull away from sin.

_Get used to it, man._

"However bad it is, I'd rather just know," she whispers, her eyes demanding, and more than a little angry. "I need something real, even if I hate it. Do you understand?"

Something real.

"Bella, this is not exactly casual knowledge," I tell her, giving her one last out.

**~*~**

Somehow, she's here, willingly, in my apartment.

_Looking at everything._

Even though I'm here on a mission to break my own heart, I want her to like where I live. I wonder what she thinks of my possessions, what they say about me. Will she think I'm interesting? _Am I interesting?_

She stops at the piano, and smiles, probably without realizing it.

"You recorded my present here?" she asks, and it makes me think of a simpler time. When her beauty was a gentle, hopeless dream in the back of my mind, spilling out into my piano.

It's still a hopeless dream. Maybe I can get one last memory. One last chance to show her how I feel before I tell her what I am.

It feels like a last meal before the execution, but I sit at the piano while she still smiles at it, and pour everything I'm feeling out onto the keys, in the aptly named etude called _Torrent_. Regret, frustration and more regret flow through the music, and when it's over, I feel nearly ready to face the firing squad. Nearly. I don't know how I'm going to to look at her when I tell her that I've murdered, that I've lied.

Cigarette and blindfold, please.

She correctly identifies the Chopin piece in a whisper, and I look to see compassion, mixed with determination.

"That's nice, Edward, but we came here to discuss the fact that you're a—" Instinctively, gently, I cover her mouth with my hand.

Her eyes widen. Not afraid, but definitely surprised.

"Don't say it. Think it all you want, but don't say it out loud." If Aro ever touches her… maybe she'd be silent to him as well. But if Aro touches me… "There are consequences if you say the word. You may prefer to have a choice in the matter."

"I choose for you to just come out and tell me everything, then," she retorts. Touché.

"Please humor me, at least in the order of what and how I tell you," I ask, frantically forming a path of debate in my mind. "There's a lot of truth to tell that doesn't involve risk to you. By the time you know half of it, you probably won't want to have anything to do with me, much less risk your life and career over that particular word."

"My life and career," Her tone screams _I'm not an idiot, asshole. _

"Please trust me," I beg.

"No more lying."

Okay, I didn't really lie, I just evaded the truth.

"Technically—"

"If the next words out of your mouth aren't 'I was an ass, and I'll happily tell you want to know,' I'm leaving."

Anger, while not great, is a far better reaction than fear and doubt. Anger looks good now.

"I _was_ an ass, I agree. But Bella," I try to compose myself, but I can't keep the desperation out of my voice. "I swear, I didn't mean for you to doubt yourself that way. Please don't go."

"I don't want to go," she says, and it's painfully sweet to hear. "But why should I trust you after the last couple of weeks?"

Yes, I deserve that.

"I couldn't tell you, for several reasons," I say, launching into my prepared speech. "First, you've got some plans that could be seriously disrupted by knowing what you want to know. Second, it's a huge infraction of the only rule that ever really gets enforced. Haven't you ever had to keep something secret?"

"Sure," she agrees, and I suddenly wonder who she means. "There are … certain things I may have heard accidentally, through no fault of the … person who inadvertently gave it away. I know some secrets that aren't mine to tell."

Fucking Jacob. Dogs are the worst secret-keepers ever. I wonder why they even bother trying.

"Yes, exactly. Not yours to tell," I say, banishing thoughts of her little puppy from my mind. "What if I promise not to mislead you in any way, but you have to drop it if I let you know if the information is, for lack of a better word, classified?"

"What would happen if someone were to find out that I know?" she asks, her voice brimming with unspoken questions.

"In that highly likely event, you would either have to die or become one of us." I try not to think of Bella as a vampire.

Then I think of Bella as a vampire. With me, forever, as my mate. _Mating._ A plan starts to form in my mind. If she loves me, and she chooses, knowing everything--

"Or we could run away," I say, before I can stop myself. "We'd have to hide, but we could probably get away with it."

"You mean, according to their laws, I have to become a va—" I put my hand over her mouth.

Seriously, she doesn't get it. _God, I want to kiss her._

"Come on, Bella," I say, ignoring how soft her mouth is under my hand, how warm her shoulders under my arm. "I'm really trying here, and you're not making it easy."

"Why would saying…" she says until I give her a warning glare. "Why would saying it out loud be a problem? Is there some way for anyone besides the two of us to find out about it?"

"Eventually, yes."

I can't tell her about them. Almost automatically now, I give her what I'm feeling through the piano keys, and an idea Chopin once had.

"Those who enforce these things have ways of finding out. And I'm afraid that if Dr. George has his way, you'll practically be next-door neighbors with them next year in Italy."

"In Volterra?" she asks, clearly confused. "How do you even know about that?"

"I heard Dr. George … thinking about it," I admit.

She gasps, covering her mouth.

_And she gets it._

"But you said you couldn't read my mind!" she looks horrified, embarrassed.

"I wasn't lying. I can't," I rush to explain. "You're the only person I've ever met whose mind is completely silent to me."

"That's what you meant when you said I was quiet?" she asks, and I nod.

She takes a moment to think it over, and gives me a long, speculative look. A faint blush stains her cheeks, and her heartbeat picks up a bit. I'd give anything to know what caused _that_ reaction.

"I can see how that might get nasty," she agrees, much to my surprise. Most people only see the advantage. "I guess it would be nice to take a break from that."

"Yes. Being around you, it's very complicated for me," I smile at the understatement. Silent mind, singing blood. How to explain? "But that part, well, it's kind of nice to have the company without all the chatter. What surprises me is how often I _wish_ I could read your mind."

"Well, I'm very glad you can't," She says, and this is no surprise to me. "But what do you mean, 'it's complicated?' "

I've thought about this a lot, and discussed it with Carlisle on many occasions. There's a good chance I need never expose her to the idea of vampires at all. There's a noble part of me that wants that for her. That wants her to hear about my crimes and judge me righteously.

Maybe then I can stop feeling so guilty. I'll feel pain, yes, but I won't feel guilt any longer. Maybe it will feel good to finally feel some personal consequences for my actions.

"We should really split this up into two conversations. There's the conversation without consequences, and then you have to make the choice. There's also the one we discussed earlier, the one I was hoping to avoid."

"Which do you want me to choose?"

_Choose me._

"Honestly? Both," I tell her, and force myself to continue. "But I don't have the right to even consider it, certainly not before you know some things about me. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't even want to see me again after tonight."

"Would I be safe in Volterra if I don't choose to get the whole story?" she asks.

She bites her lower lip, thinking. I'm thinking too. Her question deserves an answer. Supposedly she would be safe as a Volterra scholar. But what if her blood smells that good to everyone? The vampire who had attacked her hadn't thought of her as his singer, but he was very excited about her unusually sweet scent.

I feel the anger welling in me as I think about the thoughts running through his mind. He wanted to do more than kill her that night.

"Oh! Does Dr. George know?" she asks, putting two and two together. "Is he one of you?"

"Maybe to the first question, and definitely no on both questions with regard to Dr. George," I tell her, my mind boggling at the thought of such a creature as a vampire. He'd give Rosalie a run for her money in the vanity department. "As much as I want to tell you to stay away from there, the opportunity he's been telling you about is completely legitimate. He went through the same program there, without ever guessing the truth. I have a feeling that your suspicions would be secret, as long as I personally avoid contact with them. However, you might be in trouble anyway. And I won't be able to help you, if that's the case."

"You wouldn't be able to go, too?" the hope in her voice pierces me. "The whole idea, it sounds like a beautiful dream-- too good to be true. I guess I haven't really considered all the details involved, because it just hasn't seemed real to me. Dr. George keeps saying that getting in is like winning the opera lottery."

Time to rip off the Band-aid.

"He's right, Bella," I tell her. I know she doesn't believe me, so I go on. "It would be the most direct path to fame and fortune for you. But I couldn't be anywhere near you."

_I shouldn't be anywhere near you now._

"I don't like the sound of that." She sits beside me, as if she belongs there.

"Neither do I," I say honestly, before mentally kicking myself.

_Make your confession, and get it over with. You don't deserve her._

"But if it's everything you've always dreamed of, Bella — I can't ask you to give that up for me."

"Now I know you can't read my mind," she states, as if it wasn't the weirdest thing I've ever heard out of someone her age. "I've never dreamed of being famous. It never even crossed my mind! Maybe one or two opera singers in a generation get to be truly famous."

Dr. George was right. She's all talent, no ambition. The inverted ego of a Diva.

"What?"

"Do you know that makes you the only singer I've ever met who doesn't dream about being that exception to the rule?" I ask, incredulously.

"Don't get me wrong," she clarifies. "I like singing in front of people, when it goes well. But I don't have to be famous to do that."

I have heard this thought in the minds of many older singers, consoling themselves after the realization hits home that they won't ever be famous, but they will always be musicians nonetheless. For some this is incredibly bitter. Most ease into it.

"Well, fame is an option for you now." The words are difficult to form. I hesitate.

_Do the right thing, Edward. Don't be selfish._

"I think you should consider it."

"But you're saying that it's an option that excludes having you in my life," she points out.

_You shouldn't want me in your life, _I think. _And I shouldn't want it either. _

"Even if you did want that, I'm not at all certain you'd be safe in Italy. The same silence that protects you could make them want you for something more than just your singing."

"They can all read minds?" she asks, and I wonder what she's been reading. "What, I would make a pleasantly quiet meal?"

I would laugh at that if it were about anyone other than her.

"No, it's not that. And no," I pause, thinking of Aro and his gift. "There's me and there's another who can do something very similar. Your silence, it may indicate a strong talent, which would make you very powerful if you were to become like us. And they collect this sort of talent in my kind, even more ferociously than artistic talent in yours."

"Now I understand why you've been so conflicted." She starts playing Beethoven, the simple, recognizable melody of the _Moonlight Sonata_ soothing in its brooding familiarity. "But so far you haven't told me anything that would make me hate you."

"I know," I say, embellishing the harmony. I am procrastinating. "That has to do in part with the other conversation."

We play together until the song finds its end, and while I want to make this pleasant interlude last forever, I owe her the truth.

Unvarnished.

"But I can tell you this much: I've killed people, Bella."

There it is. A bell that cannot be unrung.

"I thought … I thought you only kill deer."

"_Now_ I only kill deer and other animals. It's been a long time since I killed a person — not that it makes a difference."

"It might make some difference," she says, and I can tell she wants to give me some credit. "How long has it been?"

"A little over eighty years." _A life sentence already._

Sentenced to 80 years of good behavior: high school and college in an infinite loop. And living with two couples in love, while I am always, always alone.

"How many people did you kill?" Her eyes are shut tight, and I know she cares. For some reason, this is a relief to me.

Some humans, odd as it may sound, think of vampires and think only about how sexy and cool Hollywood always makes them seem. Never about the murders. People should think Charles Manson or Ted Bundy when they think of vampires, not Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise.

"One hundred and thirty-seven." Their faces-- every single one of them-- float in my mind's eye, sometimes I see them in their vicious last acts, sometimes afraid as they make the realization that they've become the prey. Some I just remember after I've drained them, pale and dead.

"Do you know their names? Did you know them? Or were they just … convenient?"

"_Convenient_?" What a horrible word. Like a gas station. "Of course not! That isn't the word I would apply at all. I knew some of their names, but I chose them on purpose."

"What purpose?" Her face relaxes in an epiphany as she puts the pieces together. "You read their minds."

"Yes. I thought I was doing something good," I elaborate, more than grateful that she's giving me the chance to explain, that she sees so much without me having to explain every last detail. "I went looking for the worst kinds of men. Men who had killed and were determined to kill again. Rapists in dark alleyways, cornering some truly unfortunate lady. I stopped them all, finding men who were plotting to commit horrible acts all involving the victim's death, at least in intent. I'd follow them until it was clear they were actually going to do it. I always gave them a chance to stop, up until the last moment. I knew what they were thinking. I thought … at the time, I thought it balanced out."

"Charlie, my father — he's killed people, too," she points out, and it's an insight I didn't expect from her. "Not that many, but they were men just like that. I can understand why it upsets you, but it doesn't make you like them."

I don't stop the bitter laughter that erupts before I point out one major fucking difference.

"No? I'm not so sure about that. Your father may have had to kill some people in the line of duty, but I'm fairly certain he left their bodies relatively intact afterwards. I didn't. I had to hide their bodies once I was through with them. What I did was revolting and irreversible."

"So, why did you stop?"

I wish I could tell her that I wanted to stop from some noble impulse, completely my own. I want to tell her that I had my epiphany, and that it was enough. In truth, although I did have an epiphany, it was the influence of another that weighed most heavily in my decision to stop. The one person who could convince me that the man within could overcome the monster.

"Carlisle."

"Is that when you met him?"

She picks up my hand and starts fiddling with my cuff-links.

She's touching me. Willingly.

In spite of everything I've told her.

"No, that's the worst part; I already knew Carlisle, and had lived according to his rules for years. I should have known better. I thought it was different if I was saving good people and getting rid of bad ones. I was playing God."

She's still touching me, playing with my cuff-links, her fingers grazing my skin. This isn't rejection. Not at all.

"It kind of makes sense I can see why it would be tempting. Doesn't it help to think about the people you saved?"

Her hand rests on my arm in some vague and glorious sign of absolution. Somehow I manage to answer her question, ignoring the pang of hope in my chest.

"Of course. It doesn't make it right for me to decide who lives and who dies, but it does help knowing someone lived as a result of my sins."

"And their children, and their children's children," she whispers aloud the one consolation I have had through eighty years of guilt.

I was the monster who drank the blood of monsters, but the blood of innocents lived on through generations that couldn't possibly have existed without my intervention.

"I try not to think about that, but yes. That, too."

"So why did you stop?" she asks curiously.

I don't know why she does it, but her hand slides down my arm to cover mine. Our fingers intertwine, as though they belong together.

As if I weren't some kind of monster.

"I used to give their families some money, if the killer — my victim — had any family," I continue somehow. "And the last one, well, he had a family, and they had no idea what he did. They were what he thought about when he died. They loved him. So, I found them. I could hear their grief, their worry. They never found the body. I made sure they didn't. It made me realize I wasn't just acting righteously. It made me face the baser part of my crime."

"And now, what happens if you hear someone thinking about committing murder? You just walk away? Or am I a special case?"

_You don't know how special, my silent Singer._

I can hear the rush of blood in her veins as her heartbeat quickens, a faint suggestion of arousal influencing her scent. My own response is as automatic as it is forceful, and I have to concentrate to keep from kissing her, and much, much more than that. I can't read her mind, but her body gives me the green light, and it's almost too much temptation to bear.

"You are very much a special case. But no, of course not. It doesn't happen very often, but when I do come across something like that, of course, I stop it. I just don't kill the bastards afterward, even though it's really tempting."

She smiles at me, full of flirtation and encouragement. Not that I deserve it.

"What else is there? You're holding something back."

I honestly didn't think I'd have to tell the rest of it. She should be long gone by now, but here it is. How do you say this part of it?

_Hey, you know how you think you sleep alone every night? Well, I kind of hover over you, watching you. By the way, did you know you talk about me when you sleep? That you say my name and sometimes I think you may be having erotic dreams about me? And that I _live_ for those dreams?_

_You might not want to say it quite that way, man. _Oddly enough, the voice of reason in my mind sounds suspiciously like Emmett's.

"You might want your hand back after this," I reluctantly let go of her hand, and start playing again in a futile act of procrastination.

"Edward, come on. Just tell me? You're freaking me out now."

"Right. Well, speaking of you being a special case, what I have to tell you kind of started with that night."

"He was one of you, right? The guy in the alley?"

_This is it, _I think sadly, allowing myself one last chaste kiss on her forehead, one last gentle caress.

"You stayed with me," she says, her voice barely a whisper, and full of gratitude. Undeserved gratitude. "To wake me up from the concussion. You watched over me."

"Yes, that's what I mean.," I step back, steeling myself to do what's right.

_Being a Cullen doesn't mean that you won't make mistakes, _I hear Carlisle saying, first to me, then Esme, then Emmett. Rosalie never admits to making any mistakes. _Being a Cullen means you take responsibility for those mistakes. You do what's right whenever you can. _

"At first, it was the concussion … and _him." _My fists clench at the thought of her would-be killer._ "_I was fairly certain he was going to find you. And I was worried about your head. But then, it just sort of … became a habit."

"What became a habit?"

"I sort of took it on myself to protect you, almost all the time," I speak softly, unable to complete my confession in more explicit terms. I can feel it; this is the one that's going to end everything before it begins.

_It should never begin. Monster. You'd hurt her. You know you would._

"So, what, you've been watching me sleep _every_ night?" She laughs, and for a moment I almost laugh with her.

But that isn't what I promised her. I promised her the truth. How can I tell her the truth when I can't even look at her? Before I can form the words, she figures it out on her own, and I learn what temper lies beneath her usual serene veneer.

"Edward! You've been watching me sleep? What the hell?!" she explodes, and I look up.

She's furious. Utterly furious.

I know this is the part where I get what I deserve, where I see the back of her head, and then she disappears out of my life. Dread, cold and brutal, forces me to defend myself.

"If it helps at all," I begin, looking her straight in the eye, as she deserves. She needs to know that I know it was fucked up. That I won't do it again. "I know it's creepy and wrong. I feel really, really bad about it."

This is not going well. Her chest starts heaving with indignation. _Not the right time to notice her chest, Edward, even if she's really pretty when she's angry. Such a cliché, but so true._

"You should feel horrible. It _is_ creepy. How often? Do you stand over my bed and just stare at me like some pervy stalker?"

"Okay, I deserve that."

I do. I really do.

"Oh God! Do you watch me changing clothes and in the shower, too?!"

I deny it vehemently, because finally, something I _didn't_ do wrong. How could she even think that? Well, of course, I'm an idiot; anyone would think about that once they know their privacy has been violated. _Explain, you dolt_.

"No it wasn't about that, I swear!" I say, and then watch in horror as her face blooms with hurt. Emmett and Rosalie's many arguments come to mind and I immediately recognize the pattern. "I mean, you're beautiful, and I love looking at you, but it's not like that."

"Well... if you put it that way…" she softens immediately. I make a mental note to thank Emmett. It's his best response to what most men find to be a no-win situation. Emmett is a genius when it comes to weathering the storms of Rosalie Hale.

"In my defense, I was just trying to protect you. It's not my fault that you had nightmares. The first time you called out to me, I thought you were awake. I was relieved that you had found out. I had no idea you were still asleep until the sleep-talking got way too random."

I trail off and wait, suddenly understanding the thoughts of every man who has ever awaited verdict from a jury, or sentencing from a judge. _Be merciful, please._ I hear their thoughts echo in my memory as I join their ranks.

"I do appreciate that part. But no more watching over me unless I know you're there."

Another echo of memory- joy, gratitude, resolution, new life. I want to make a promise, to take an oath, to commemorate this moment. To make it always true.

"You forgive me? Seriously?"

"I didn't say that, but I'm not finished asking questions," she says, with what sounds like a perfunctory warning. "I guess I'm more curious than angry. I may forgive you, eventually, if you never lie to me again and keep your visits to the version in which I'm aware of them. And you can keep answering my questions. I like that."

Answer questions? I'll answer anything she wants. I'll do anything she wants.

_Just…don't go. Don't make me go._

The idea that I might not have to go, that even after telling her the worst there is to tell about myself, she can still stand to look at me, to touch me, to _flirt _with me, it's overwhelming, and unexpectedly as painful as it is pleasurable. Hope can be a sharp pleasure, when you haven't felt it in nearly a century. And now I feel something else, something new. Something deep and sweet and peaceful, filling every lonely corner of my soulless existence.

"What else do you want to know?"

"Why don't you ever really kiss me?" she asks, taking me completely by surprise. "Don't you want to?"

"Don't ever think I don't want to, Bella," I say, reaching for her. I have to touch her. I can't _not _touch her.

"Then why don't you? Does it have to do with what you are?"

"A little," I admit. The tip of her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips, and every instinct in me tells me to _take_, both as man and monster. Carefully, I banish the monster, and for the first time in my long existence, allow myself to speak of desire. "But it's more about what I've done. I thought you deserved to know first. I couldn't bear to think of you regretting what might be the most beautiful moment of my existence."

She seems stunned, but her eyes darken with desire, and she lets out a barely audible breath, her mouth forming a perfect, delicate _o. _I am so close to her that I can taste her breath- it's ginger and jasmine, like the tea she always drinks at Keys. Spicy and sensual, but always natural. I taste it in the air, forcing myself to feel the burn with every millimeter of approach.

Can I really do this? Can I kiss my singer? Again, I wish I knew what she was thinking. Her eyes, deep and warm, tell me she trusts me, and wants this. They say _please. _I check my throat, and feel the flames. I will burn for her, and keep her safe. She breathes again, ginger and jasmine. Her pulse races, and her scent envelops me as the warmth of her body trips the warning bells of security.

_Can I do this? How can I not?_

_I would go to hell to touch these lips._

As soon as I think it, I'm doing it. _Bella,_ connected with me, with my own mouth, forming a physical _we_ in the space where it was only me, just a moment ago. It seems impossible to have her flesh so close to my teeth at first, but natural, exciting, and unexpectedly, exactly _right_. I expect the worst- that something wild within me will break free, and I will be left holding her limp, innocent body, drained of all blood before I know what I'm doing.

It doesn't happen.

I never forget who she is, that I must be careful, even as I give in to this physical sensation, this kiss. She is my singer, but more than that, she is Bella. More than vampire, I am Edward, as I was before Carlisle Cullen. Suddenly, I understand the biblical use of the word _knowledge_, even though we are only at the beginning stage of this. Her hot mouth, her long hair tickling my hands, my hands around her waist, her fingers weaving into my hair, her slim form in my arms- yes, I am beginning to _know_ Bella Swan.

My body learns her, memorizes her, forges her into its cells, and it cries out in recognition, cell by cell. I lose myself in the rhythm of this kiss- a gentle sway not formed by the thoughtful intention of individuals, no, but by whatever directs planets and waves and birds in migration.

She is my orbit, my groundswell, my true north. The overwhelming alchemical knowledge of this zaps through me on a cellular level, changing what I know, to make room for her. _How did I ever live without this kiss?_ I am drowning in this exploration, and I don't care. I must know.

I must know more _Bella_. Must be careful with Bella. Must not open my mouth. Protect her from teeth, from venom.

My fingertips memorize the small of her back, and my knuckles come into contact with highly polished wood. Odd, that in the middle of this miracle there would be some furniture. No, not furniture, a piano. Momentary confusion passes through me, and at the same moment, her soft mouth opens slightly, and her hot tongue, _sweet holy—. _Something inside me snaps, something feral and unsafe for her. Automatically my arms move to protect her, putting distance between her flesh and my teeth; my lips curve to reassure her, even as the flames leap in my throat.

I force myself even farther away from her, refusing to breathe until the flames die down into the familiar, controlled burn to which I have grown accustomed. When I am finally able to look at her, I find her neither frightened nor disgusted, but aroused and amused, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling with excitement. She's adorable, and she trusts me. After this first test, I trust me too, or possibly _us_, if this new creature called 'us' still exists outside of that kiss.

"I should walk you home," I say, not wanting to push our luck, but completely unwilling to part from her one moment before I have to.

"Okay, but if you're going to stay, you have to lie down with me, not spy on me like a creepy stalking vam—" I gently clamp my hand down on her mouth, delighted with her teasing.

"Don't tempt me," I laugh, feeling freer than I've felt in ninety years. "Now that I've discovered a delightful way to make you stop saying that word."

_Please try to say vampire again,_ I beg silently as I grab her coat.

"What word is that, Edward? Oh, you must mean the word _va_—"

_Yes, just give me the slightest excuse, love. _I spin her around, wrapping her in her coat in one fluid motion as I claim her hot, delicious mouth again. How could I think that I would hurt her? How could I _not_ hurt her?

But somehow, I am not hurting her. I am consuming her, consumed _by _her, but never drawing blood. I feel the last shackles of doubt and guilt loosen, and I know now that I never would have hurt her, I never could have, no matter how thirsty she makes me. She draws me to her as the sun draws a planet, and now I am locked in her orbit.

I wonder what she'd say if she knew how permanent her hold on me was? I wonder what she'd ask of me if she knew I'd never be able to say no to her.

"See what I've done? I've created a monster."

She lets me walk her back to her dorm, as if she belongs by my side. When I put my arm around her shoulder, she doesn't flinch, but snuggles closer, _fitting_. Right there, under my arm, as if she was formed to go just there. We don't speak of it, but she hums with the contentment of a cat over a warm vent.

I hesitate at her dorm room door.

"You want to come in and watch me sleep?" she asks, standing on her tiptoes to kiss my chin.

I really hope she's not kidding.

"You really don't mind?"

"It's really not okay that you did that without me knowing about it," she sighs. "But I think…"

"You think…" I prod when she hesitates.

"I think I'm sleepy, but I'm not willing to let you go just yet, and you did apologize. I wouldn't mind sleeping in your arms tonight. Fully clothed, of course. What are you smiling about?"

"I expected to be alone after my confession. Tonight and all nights after this. I just can't get over how lucky I am that you still want me here with you."

"You're really hard on yourself, you know that?" she asks, shaking her head in wonderment. "Of course I want you. Outside of the whole stalking thing, you're amazing. I feel like one day you'll wake up and realize I'm just Bella, and wonder what the hell you were thinking."

"I don't sleep, Bella. If anyone wakes up and wonders what the hell they were thinking, it's going to be you."

I hold her, letting her scent burn through my throat, her warmth make me feel almost human again. I feel my body responding and pull away before she notices.

I wait for her as she visits the communal showers, and use her computer to write Esme an email asking her opinion about beds and thread-counts. As I go to hit the 'send' button, it astounds me how many times I've used the words 'us', and 'we'. I feel the words settle into my bones, into my skin for the first time. I don't have the right to want this. I don't have the right to feel this. But somehow, I have her permission, and while Bella is young, she is a grown woman and capable of making her own decisions. I'll do my best to make sure she stays human, and safe, even as my mind races with fantasies of her by my side for eternity.

"Get what you needed?" She asks, towel-drying her hair as I shut down her laptop.

"Everything I need tonight," I say, smiling as she folds down the covers on her narrow bed. "The rest can wait."

She pats the bed beside her with a shy, answering smile, and I nervously take off my shoes before climbing into bed with her, still wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

She nestles in my arms, head against my chest, but the lack of heartbeat doesn't make her pull away. I hear her breath even out and her pulse rate drop, and I'm astounded by the trust she so clearly has in me.

"Thank you," I whisper so softly most vampires wouldn't be able to hear me.

"My Edward," she mumbles sleepily, and I hear her humming something from her repertoire, as she so often does in her sleep. "Was I in tune?"

"Yes, Bella," I tell her dream-self, smoothing a dark, damp lock. "Perfectly."

"Mmmgood. Nice vampire, nice." She's even stubborn in her sleep.

"Sshh," I kiss her forehead, and she smiles in her sleep while I begin to worry.

Carlisle will tell me how to keep her safe, and keep the Volturi in the dark, even if it means telling a few lies. We've always told harmless lies when it serves a higher good. A pang of dread comes over me, and I think of how best to proceed. If I'm careful, it will be okay. She'll be safe.

So much could go wrong.

But I'll be damned if it doesn't feel completely _right._

**~*~**


	5. Time Out Jasper POV, chapters 24 & 25

**Jasper outtake: Time Out**

**A/N This takes place sometime around chapters 24 &25. It explains why Jasper was in "time out". All mistakes in this unbeta'ed mess are mine. Please feel free to point them out to me.**

JPOV

I sense his emotions even before hearing his footsteps. He attempted to hide neither, the great big monkeyfucker of a vampire.

If I didn't know he was afraid of me, if I hadn't _felt_ his goddamn fear, I'd have run the fuck away from that sombitch. Instead I clocked him in the head and _then_ ran. I did what I wanted to do and now I feel like shit.

It's like I'm 15 years old all over again, except I can't get drunk to forget what I did. Now that I'm a fucking monster, I'll never forget again. Not for even two seconds. The human's dread, fear and womanish screams as I drained him are now just a part of the magic that is being me these days. Correction: this long, neverfuckingending day. And that's just it. I can't get away from this waking nightmare.

I am the nightmare.

The most I can do is remove myself from them, but I can't even be trusted to wander off and pout without _murdering_ someone. And my wife, my _wife_, who already has the weight of the fucking future on her narrow little shoulders, is feeling a whole metric assload of guilt because she wasn't watching out for all of twenty-three minutes when it happened.

She's constantly trying to keep us all safe on two different continents, and I can't even be trusted to let the UPS guy live when he changes his route unexpectedly.

I'm such a fucking failure. I couldn't even give her one hour of free time, when it was all she wanted. She wants one hour to herself, and I fuck it up.

And here comes Hoss, come to find me and talk me out of feeling like I deserve to feel. Give me words of wisdom, Mother Mary. Let me the fuck be.

I consider moving away, but the vibes coming out of him feel more like commiseration than pity, and that can only mean he's been through it too.

Of course he has.

"Emmett."

He doesn't say anything for a while, just sits nearby and takes in all the destruction. Some river water is starting to creep up onto the banks, so he takes one of the trees I threw in there out enough for the water to flow freely again. Another tree, no longer jammed, starts bobbing down the river.

I get up and help him without saying anything, and pretty soon it just kind of turns into a log throwing contest. Big as he is, I'm still the newborn, so I win easily. I'd be lying if I said it doesn't make me feel a little better.

"I think this one could be replanted," he says, shaking a medium spruce lightly. "You must have lifted it straight out- look, the roots look like they're in pretty good shape still."

Of course I remember where it came from, so I help him with that, too.

It doesn't take him long to go get a bucket for water, but by the time he comes back, I'm ready to talk.

"Thanks, man."

He nods, looks at me cautiously and waits. He's just calm, patient. I can see how he and Rosalie get along so well. Feeling first-hand what she feels? The guy deserves a medal for diffusing that bombshell every day.

"You've slipped up, too, right?" I ask, just to be sure.

"The first year it was bad," he says, nodding. "I even ran away once, because I didn't think she'd forgive me. But she did. And then, after I thought it was cool, I slipped up again. It was so hard to look her in the eye, knowing how she never once tasted human blood. But she never blamed me for it. She always blamed herself, because she begged Carlisle to change me."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Sometimes, I think her guilt makes it easier for me to stay straight, you know?"

"So if she never did I guess it's possible that Alice won't either, then."

"If she doesn't, that'll make three vampires I know who haven't tasted human blood."

Hold the fort.

"Three? Not five?" I ask, trying to figure out who slipped and when.

"No way, man," he laughs. "Never slipping is the exception, not the rule."

"Esme?" It's hard to imagine Esme hurting a fly, much less killing a helpless human.

"I wasn't around for it, but yeah, she messed up in her first year too."

"So Carlisle?" I ask, having a hard time picturing that one.

"No, Carlisle's never had human blood."

Our fearless leader had felt compassion and guilt as well as disappointment, when he saw the blood and the corpse. The waves coming off of him had shattered the trance of my blood-lust, and my shame felt like a tidal wave when he checked the man for a pulse and pronounced him dead.

That leaves Edward. I don't know whether to be relieved that he's not perfect, or hold it against him. Although, in reality, I pity the fool who doesn't give Alice exactly what she wants, and she did beg him to change her.

"What did you do with the truck?" I ask, needing to change the subject.

"I delivered the rest of the packages in it, just dropped them off, no signatures or anything," he adds. "Then I cut his neck with a rock and drove the truck off a bridge. It'll look like an accident if they don't look close enough."

"I owe you one," I say, because _thank you_ seems kind of wrong.

"Naw, man, it's just how it goes. Edward's usually the one who does the covering up."

"I'd much rather owe you one than him one right now," I mutter.

"He didn't bite you," Emmett points out. "Edward's not a bad guy. A little moody maybe, but not bad."

"No, but if it weren't for him, they wouldn't have been there, would they?"

"They were there for Bella," he points out, "though if it makes you feel better, Edward blames himself as much as you do. It wasn't his fault though. They were going to find her whether or not he was with her. They just found her faster because of him."

"So Edward slipped too?" I ask, enjoying the current focus on his faults. "Who slipped more, you or Esme or Edward?"

"Esme has only had a couple, but she's been straight as long as I've known her, and I've done way worse than she has. But Edward?"

Emmett laughs, a big sound. It's almost shocking, given what we're talking about.

"I know, I shouldn't laugh," he says. "But with him, you can't call it a slip-up. It was more like a throw-down. If you count his whole streak, he wins, no contest."

So he tells me the whole story, and hearing about how Edward's mind-reading shaped his killings made me think of the fear I felt coming off of my victim. Part of me hated it. Another part of me, well, I'm horrified to even think of it, but part of me loved it. The blood, it was so good, and his fear made it even better. That's what I don't want to admit out loud. That I could have killed him faster, but I drew it out, just to get more adrenaline into his blood. That it was pure fucking heaven.

It was only after the fact that the guilt came.

"You know what really bothers me?" I ask, breaking a long silence after the end of his story. "What really upsets me most about the whole thing? It's like, in some ways, I'm the same person I always was, and that guy is horrified that I would kill a human being. But then there's this whole new part of me, something that's fundamentally changed, and it's like…it's like…"

"It felt good, right? Like it feels totally natural to drink human blood," he says to my immediate and intense relief.

"Yeah," I agree. "I feel like the worst human on the planet."

"Well, you aren't human anymore, Jasper. Drinking human blood makes you a normal vampire. Not drinking human blood makes you better. It sucks, but what happened? It's not the end of the world. You just have to shake it off, move on, and try to learn something from it."

"Why does it have to taste so good?" I groan, scrubbing my face with my hands. "That was the best thing."

"Yeah, well, keep that to yourself, would you?" he says, staring up at the clouds. "Try not to think about it. Bears are pretty good. Carnivores in general, very tasty in comparison with deer. But when you're hungry, deer will have to do. Plus, no guilt and there are certain rewards of the girlie kind for good behavior."

"Emmett," I whisper, in case anyone is close by. "If it weren't for Rosalie, would you…"

"Let's just say I'm glad she's here," he says, keeping his voice quiet. "I agree with Carlisle on principle, and I'm proud, but man, I sure as hell wasn't a vegetarian as a human and it's hard to resist temptation now."

His hushed words hang in the air between us like someone's filthy laundry.

"I'll tell you one thing, though," he says, continuing. "I've met some of those vampires who kill people, and they're not right, man. Edward and Carlisle will argue about whether or not we have souls, and I don't know about all of that, but I know what I don't want to be. Maybe we get to keep our souls because at least we're trying, you know? Those other vampires, they're not…they're not good. I wouldn't want to be them."

"Have you ever met her, the one who changed me?"

"Renata? No. Mostly I've only ever met nomads."

"Maybe they're not so bad. I mean, if Carlisle was friends with them, and Edward and Bella are there…" I trail off, savoring the taste of blood still lingering in my mouth.

I should wash it out.

"Okay, you want to know what's bad about the Volturi?" he asks, and it looks like this is open-book Emmett time, so I nod.

"On paper, they're not bad. Someone has to make sure that vampires don't run amok. Can you imagine?" he says evenly. "So in a way, the world would be worse for humans if the Volturi didn't rein in the really bad vampires. But the bad thing is that they've got a lot of power, and they're hungry for more. The rules they enforce don't apply to them, and if they want something you have, kiss it goodbye. The trials are just for show, what with Alec and Jane there to incapacitate the accused. If they've decided you're guilty, you're toast. And Aro? He makes me glad I don't have any special power. I'd hate to be in that guy's crosshairs."

It's something Alice sees frequently in our distant future: Aro wondering what happened and asking about me, and us having to move. Again and again and again. If what Emmett says is true, we are still in some very deep shit.

"What about Alice?"

"Man, they don't even know she exists," his face gets really serious, but the wave of fear that comes off him is what really gets to me. "And they never will. Not if we can help it."

The thought of little Alice at the mercy of Aro and his wonder twins makes me angry. The thought of fragile, innocent, human Bella in constant danger while I cower in the wilderness pisses me off so much that Emmett feels it, and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Calm down. Nothing's happening right now. No use crying over milk that's still in the glass."

He's so practical, so chillaxed and _Zen_ about the whole thing that I start to feel guilty all over again. I swear, I'm fifteen years old again, and that shit needs to stop now. I may be a newborn vampire, but I'm a grown ass man, and I need to start acting like it.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I bet you wish I'd never been bitten."

"No way, man. You guys are _fun. _And with your talent?" I monitor his emotions carefully as he speaks, but there's nothing in his vibe to contradict his words. "It's like having all the good parts of being a newborn without the control issues. All Rosie wants to do is hunt and hump like we did in our first decade. If all I have to do is hold your hand on the rare occasion that you fuck up, I'm not going to complain. I'm just glad to be on the other side of it for once."

He's got a hell of a point.

Zen. I can be zen, too. It looks like if I want to control my talent and learn how to use it as well as Alice uses hers, I'll just have to chill the fuck out, like Eleazar always says. In his own words, of course.

Because I think Eleazar knows what Carlisle won't admit to himself. Peace is best, but sometimes they bring the fight right to your door. Aro's already done it once, and caught everyone with their pants down. If he does it again—_when _he does it again—we'll be prepared.

Then I'll stop being so goddamn useless.


	6. The Struggle Below, chapter 31 EPOV

**The Struggle Below, EPOV outtake of Ch. 31: Surface Calm **

**While I chose to tell Canzone from Bella's point of view because it just makes for better suspense to go with the most naive character, sometimes Edward's interactions with Aro are just too crazy not to show.**

**Remember: this takes place BEFORE chapter 33. **

**Warning: This chapter contains some of Aro's darkest thoughts and fears. He isn't always this bad.**

**~oЖo~**

This close.

I am this close to taking Bella and just running. Every time I make up my mind, Alice calls me and talks me down, telling me exactly what will happen if I dare. Aro suspects me, and he's already given the order. Demetri already tracks my every move, so if and when I take Bella and run, they'll send a team after us. It will be Demetri, Jane and Felix, and they won't be gentle with me. My ashes won't even be cold when they take Bella back to Volterra, where her memories of me will begin to fade as she becomes one of the most powerful assets the Volturi will ever possess.

So every godforsaken week we keep going straight into the spider's web. Lately we favor the library entrance over the elevator, so that Bella can get a new book recommendation from Marcus. While I'm pleased to see her quietly gaining favor with one of the most powerful vampires in Volterra, what I really love about these visits is seeing our relationship through his eyes. In spite of everything I am, in spite of what it costs her, she loves me, and only me.

Truth be told, Marcus is in part responsible for my patience lasting as long as it has, particularly concerning Demetri. I know, I _know _that Aro allows his pursuit of Bella within the strict guidelines of our agreement, to try to get me to break my word, not to mention the law. The moment I attack any member of the guard, they've got us. So I try not to let it bother me too much when Demetri's scent so often lingers in Bella's path, although it's as frustrating as hell to watch as he repeatedly goes up to the line of what's acceptable. It certainly helps to see her repeatedly reject him through his own eyes, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't be ripped limb from limb and burned in a great sparking fire for his efforts. And the desire to do just that is quickly going from want to need. But every week, through Marcus' eyes and in his thoughts, when I see our strengthening bond, I have one moment of complete clarity, and allow myself to be reassured.

_They are so protective of one another, _Marcus observes._ There's barely room for any air at all. Love needs air. Do you hear me, Edward? _

I nod subtly, and the image of the lovely vampire with dark curls and love in her eyes takes over in his mind once more. He thinks of the two of them, laughing, making a joyful kind of love I have yet to experience with Bella. Didyme was, to the minds of all who knew her, the embodiment of joy and light, and Marcus was perhaps the only creature in existence able to completely appreciate her true nature, and obviously delighted in it. Bella and I are not exactly light-hearted in nature under normal circumstances. I do remember a brief time, before the appearance of the Volturi in our lives, when we were a little more playful, and I resolve to give that to her again.

"Thank you Marcus," I say, sincerely. "I wish we could continue this conversation, but Aro is waiting for us."

As we enter the underground marbled labyrinth I can hear Aro's mind quite clearly for a change, though I don't trust it. Jane and Santiago don't so much hide their thoughts from me as much as they have the unusual ability to clear their minds for a limited time, becoming passive creatures of pure observation. It's a difficult trick for a vampire, but it doesn't last longer than a few hours, and not at all if they aren't aware of my presence. Aro's method of disguise is much more complex, and far more unsettling. Reading his mind is a bit like entering a creaky old house with a small, flickering flashlight. Somehow he is able to hide most of his thoughts by keeping them in shadows, conversely turning a spotlight only the thoughts he wants me to know. Oddly, it's not entirely unlike Bella's father's few readable thoughts in effect. Occasionally an image or thought will float into his mind, just a flicker, one cinematic frame at vampire speed, before he manages to hide it once again. I never react to one of these thoughts, but simply add it to my rapidly growing collection.

The more time I spend with him, the less he's able to hide from me. Even the darkest shadows in his mind have shape and weight, and I am able to match them to many of these flashes of lost control. I may not know all of his secrets, but I'm starting to know exactly how big they are, and by the cues that bring these shadows and flickers into the front of his mind, their general category.

Tonight his thoughts seem lighter as I hear the music we recorded for him fill his mind, echoed with the music coming from his music room as we get closer, mixed with the thoughts of Heidi and Felix. Felix is, incidentally, assaulting me in his mind for the double insult I have inadvertently caused him by Aro's request for him to stand sentry during Bella's lesson, and also for inspiring Heidi to torture him with her enthusiastic endorsement of humanitarianism. As happy as I am to think of the human lives saved by this small group of females, it's pissing off the rest of them, including the one vampire I can't afford to offend. I only hope Sulpicia doesn't evangelize as much as Heidi, because where Felix only fantasizes about kicking my ass, Aro will probably just have me executed if it gets to be too annoying.

_Felix just needs a girlfriend, _Heidi thinks, as she tries to convince him to go with her to the animal reserve. _Corin wouldn't mind spending a little time with him. Just because they aren't true mates doesn't mean they should be so lonely. Oh, look, Edward and Bella! I love the way he watches her when she's not looking. I bet Sulpicia's right. It's the humanitarian diet that makes them less aggressive and..._

_You were wise to make this recording, Edward, _Aro's interior voice informs me as we near his door. _It's the only thing that drowns out the incessant prattling of your followers. _

"This is my favorite part," Aro says, "conducting" with his typical theatricality. "Where poor, brave Liù begs the man she loves, not to play wicked Turandot's game. You beg so nicely, my dear, even in the face of certain tragedy! It very nearly softens my cold dead heart to hear such a beguiling sadness, such delicate hope and longing, knowing her inevitable, tragic fate."

Bella wisely ignores Aro's insinuations, which doesn't go ignored, even while he exchanges pleasantries with her.

_How skilled at artifice you're both becoming, _he thinks. _How sophisticated. Carlisle would be alarmed, don't you think?_

"Can this mean what I think it means?" he asks aloud, holding the small legal notice in which I arranged for Aro to hold the sole copyright to what we gave him. _Have you finally decided to court my favor? I wonder if you know what that means, Edward._

This is fairly typical of his mode of communicating with me. While it's annoying, it's also fairly impressive to witness his mental gymnastics. Aro's head can be completely full of music and politics while simultaneously carrying on a mental lecture in my direction which gives most of his side of his conversation with Bella subtle nuances, if not blatant messages for me to consider. Even for a vampire, this kind of multitasking takes skill.

"The recordings are yours," I answer, answering with as much double meaning as he asked. The recordings. Not any of the other favors you want. "You can do whatever you like with them. You can hide them or distribute them as you see fit. You have the copyright, and the only copy."

_How disappointing. I was hoping you could be trusted with a few small tasks._

"Mine. All mine, to do with as I wish. Fascinating," Aro enthuses sarcastically, before expressing genuine pleasure in spite of himself. "I must say, Edward, I don't know which disc I like best. The opera is quite lovely, of course, but I confess that I've never heard a better interpretation of Chopin's Nocturnes. And the Liszt, the Liszt!"

Images of Liszt spring to mind, of a young man accepting Aro's conditions with hungry eyes, followed by a much older Liszt, accepting wild applause with the same eyes transformed, haunted by tremendous guilt and pain.

Aro compliments me by comparing me to him, even while remembering the look on Liszt's face after his father's untimely, unnatural death, and the anguish he experienced when Aro cost him his first love.

_Small prices, Edward. I wouldn't ask you to give up Carlisle and Bella, _he thinks, even as he offers us a gift. _Just one little trip to Egypt to find out what Amun's been hiding from me. Surely you can do this one little thing for me? I could give you so much in return._

Now we play our roles, with Bella eager and me hesitating. I briefly wonder if Alice can see our mental conversation as well as the one others can see, because my planned reluctance fits in brilliantly with our mental sparring.

"We didn't expect anything in return," I inform him, shaking my head to say, no, I won't spy for him. I won't go to Africa. "We don't want you to think this is a bribe."

"Please, do not insult me," Aro counters. "I wouldn't offer to grant a request if I thought you were angling for it. Bella, tell me. What is this_ one thing_?" _One thing, Edward. I am asking one thing._

She baits him, her heart hammering with nerves. And he takes it, hook line and sinker.

_How tragic it is to see her fail, _he thinks as we explain the contest,_ when her own instinct was right all along! And the worst part is, it was your cowardice that cost her this opportunity. That and listening to you. Perhaps she'll ask me first next time._

And then he surprises me by painting himself into a corner. He'll be forced by his own words to allow us to go on tour if Bella wins the competition.

As she delivers the final line of our performance, he realizes the same thing, and his mind explodes with quiet fury. Wordless images of torment crowd in his mind as he gains control over himself, and I observe with fascination. Many times I have acted rashly, even dangerously foolish when angry. Carlisle's disapproval, Esme's concern, even Rosalie's disdain have never been able to calm my wrath when provoked. One could argue that Jane's considerable sadism made an impression on me, but nothing has ever been so inspiring to me to curb my temper as witnessing the vast difference between Aro's internal wrath and his exterior calm.

Aro's mind is alight for once, overexposed and blown out with images of countless expressions of terror of thousands of years' worth of executions and war. Full color and sound in the near-cinematic memory of the Volturi forces as they incapacitate and destroy an entire army of Newborns. The face of Didyme as she recoils in horror, her ashes, sparkling as they float in a spring breeze. His eyes open abruptly, staring at me accusingly as he tamps this last image down with the electric pop of a blown fuse, and his memory palace falls into darkness once more.

_What did you see, boy? _he asks, and I do my lying best to look confused, shaking my head as if I didn't understand anything. _You would do well to appease me. Knowing what I'm capable of._ _Good luck trying to tell Marcus. You wouldn't be the first, but he'll never believe you._

I shake my head again, this time definitively, risking Bella's awareness. She doesn't seem to notice.

_You mean to assure me of your silence? _

I nod.

_Then you need to work harder._

"You're so golden. Everything you do is so perfect, and right," Aro says aloud, using the same tone he usually reserves for his silent barrages. "It's admirable, really. Every situation handled perfectly, like you've been doing this for centuries. It really makes me wonder. You, Edward. You would think that with your intrusive talent, quiet, brooding ways, and your bizarre lifestyle, you'd be a social pariah. Instead, the women find your demeanor mysterious, your fidelity to this human either incredibly romantic or a great challenge to their wiles. They even find your diet to be intriguing. Half of the females won't even drink from humans any more, and you haven't even said a word to convert them."

This is news to Bella, and Aro delights in that fact.

_Keeping secrets from your true love, are you?_

"It's probably just a phase," I say, trying to placate them both. "I'm sure that once the novelty wears off, they'll go back to tradition."

"What a good response," he says snidely, thinking _I wonder if Bella will do as well?_ "And you, Bella. You float around the place like some gauzy mystery. A human vault with a beguiling scent. Carlisle was always polite, but he was never this skilled in social politics. Not like my guard. But you two, you handle it all like a couple of professionals. Especially you, Edward. Nobody here is as good as you are. Well, nobody since Eleazar left."

_Don't think I don't know he's helping you, Edward. You probably run home from these meetings, begging him for advice. The Edward I met last year would have crashed and burned a thousand times by now._

"What I want to know is why? Is it your talent, _Bella?" _he continues, emphasizing the nickname he never uses for her. "Could anyone have a shield that powerful as a human? I don't think it's that, no." _But if it is, my pretty shield, know that I'll never let you go._ "Or maybe it's you, Edward. Perhaps you can read more than you let on? I know I'd play a bit dumb if I were in your position. Or perhaps it's just _dumb luck_?"

_Stupid boy, _he thinks, straight at me._ You think you can't be compelled to help me? I have all I need right here. Don't you know she'd do anything to protect you? It's in her nature. Almost any woman in love with a man would do it, but she's a shield. She'll do it without blinking._

I shake my head, pleading with my eyes for him to stop. Bella's heart rate increases, and I start to worry that she'll faint. I draw closer to her, physically steadying her.

_Don't believe me? _he asks, the false tone suggesting a deliberately obtuse shade to his question. _Just watch._

_"_Please don't," I whisper, swift enough for vampire ears only.

He smiles as he approaches with vampire speed, reminding me of Felix' presence just outside. Bella reacts reflexively, stepping between us at near vampire speed herself. Aro stops just in front of her, taunting me.

"So brave." _She will make an impressive shield, Edward, _he thinks, going so far as to touch her face. _So soft and warm. So quiet. Renata as a human was nothing compared to her._

An image of the slightly less-attractive human Renata, just moments after evading a very confused vampire comes to Aro's mind. In his memory, he touches her and Renata's entire human life flashes in my mind in a compact parcel of information almost physically painful to take in all at once. Aro does it with ease, correctly interpreting as a natural gift what she only dimly recognizes as a her patron saint's protection.

"But can anyone be that lucky?" he asks, wondering if Bella's shield also works like Renata's. "As brave and talented as you are, it doesn't quite make sense. I can't help but think I'm missing something."

Aro turns his attention to the silence beneath Bella's warm skin, and once again fantasizes about my destruction at the hands of Jane and Felix.

_Bella would be so sad if you weren't around for her eternity, Edward. But she and Marcus could keep each other company. Can you imagine the two of them moping around for thousands of years together? _He smiles wickedly._ Perhaps she'll get lucky and forget all about you. Demetri would be more than happy to distract her from your memory._

"Of course we've been careful," I insist, trying to reason with him even as I pull her close, protectively. "Wouldn't you be, in our position?"

Aro finally gives us more space.

"In _your position_, what a concept." he says, thinking _In your position, I would go to Egypt_. "You're all very close with Eleazar and his coven, aren't you?"

He damn well knows it, and I tell him so, growing annoyed with his games. He keeps it up, though, thinking of the many talented Vampires Eleazar helped recruit in part by identifying their talents: Corin, Chelsea, Afton, Jane and Alec, and yes, even Demetri. I receive some small satisfaction from imagining the few who've banded together to work against him, the ones he knows little to nothing about: Alice, Jasper, Kate, and now possibly more. They won't tell me, just in case Aro gets his hands on me, but I know Eleazar began making mental lists of the talented vampires who either turned down the Volturi or otherwise escaped Aro's attention.

"When I try to imagine what I would do if I were you, Edward," he says, imagining me destroying him and sitting in his throne in fast-forward. "I can't say I'd do anything differently. After all, who could possibly understand what it is to be you like I can? In some ways, ways that haven't even occurred to you yet, you and I are very much alike. I can see why Carlisle chose for you to be his pretend son."

Thoughts tinged with jealousy, disdain and longing for Carlisle crowd his mind. _He chose a son's love over that of a true friend. I can't help but feel jealous, but in truth, I would have changed you too, and your mother. Such a talented woman, and how devoted to you. There was no need for you to lose her at such a young age. I would have been a better sire to you Edward, had I found you first. _

An image of my human mother, accessed from Carlisle's memories of course, replaces his sick fantasies of his own demise at my hand. Now my mother, Bella and I flank his chair, freely succumbing to his touch as he imagines my mother to be as clairvoyant as Alice, and his own power expanding exponentially with his omniscience. The fantasy is disturbingly similar to Alice's original grim vision of the four of us as Volturi guard.

"If we were human, I wouldn't hesitate to choose you to be my heir," he says, replacing my mother in his mind with Sulpicia. _How they all adore you, bright young thing, so full of beauty, talent and romance. Imagine what you could make them do if you acted like you gave a damn._ "You have, in spite of first impressions, a natural capacity for leadership. With Bella as a mate you are even more formidable."

_Caius may be right. Perhaps we don't need another mind-reader. Particularly an uncooperative mind-reader charismatic enough to gather followers without even trying. But we could certainly use a better shield._

He imagines me again on his throne, and squelches it with another fantasy of my destruction. Bella's heart thrums so fast and loudly I worry that it will give out completely before she loses consciousness. I hold her about the waist and press her warm body to me, willing her to calm down before we enter a completely different kind of crisis.

"Please, Aro," I whisper again, too low for her to hear. "Don't."

_I think you'll help me Edward. I think you'll help me because you won't want to leave her here without you. Blink once if you understand._

I blink_._

_Good. _

_Poor Isabella. She's so frightened, just smell that adrenaline, hear her pulse! Don't you want to help her, Edward? I can make all this go away, or I can make it much worse. Now blink once more if you're ready to cooperate._

"But unlike Carlisle, I don't play human. And Edward? In case you haven't noticed..."

_The decision is yours. I can be like a second father to you, or I can just as easily get rid of you and keep her. Felix, as you know, is right outside, and would be happy to assist me._

All his thoughts and words combine, sharpened to a poisoned point.

"I don't _need_ an heir."

I close my eyes deliberately, hating myself more thoroughly than I ever thought possible, because he's got me trapped. I'm going to spy for Aro, and there's nothing to say it won't get worse. When I open them again, the storms are gone from his eyes. He's got what he wants.

Heads, he wins, tails I lose.

For now.

_Very good, my son._

**~oЖo~**


	7. A Bird in the Hand, Aro early Act II

**A Bird in the Hand**

**Thanks to Tanglingshadows, for requesting a look into Aro's mind for her FandomGivesBack auction! Thank you for letting me share this in the outtakes.**

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**The following takes place in late autumn, not long after Bella and Edward first come to Volterra**

**-A-**

The ancient vampire stood in the doorway between library and palace, smiling slightly at the sight before him. For a moment he entertained the idea that those he viewed were completely unaware of his observation. And two of them probably were, immersed in conversation as they were. The human girl, at least, and his brother, who could be aware if he tried.

But Edward Cullen was surely aware, in spite of his polite mask of attention to the words of the others.

_He doesn't care about their conversation, _Aro observed cynically. _He is here to protect the girl. He knows we are hungry, and knows his presence will keep her safer than she would be alone. I imagine he knows our feeding schedule as well as the rest of us. _

The young vampire inclined his head toward the grand doors while smiling minutely with just one corner of his lips, as if to say: _Touche. _

Admiration and jealousy swirled in the darkest corners of Aro's mind, before he willed them to be still, and rest in secret with his deepest, most cherished wish to keep all of the Cullens in Volterra. These were thoughts he only entertained when he knew, through Demetri's spying, that Edward was far enough away on hunt so as not to read his mind. What he wouldn't give to have Edward and Bella's talents at his disposal, of course, but all of the Cullens appealed to him in their own ways.

He would be delighted to gaze on the voluptuous Rosalie in the flesh: of all the beauties at court there were no blondes, and Aro felt this was a shame. He wondered if she would allow him to seduce her, though he guessed it might take centuries to melt her icy demeanor. Her brawny mate would look good opposite Felix. Two powerful and intimidating guards were more balanced and suited to his classical aesthetic tastes than one. Even the gentle and faithful Esme, (a bit too docile perhaps for Aro's tastes) would make a suitable companion for Sulpicia, particularly if she insisted on keeping her ridiculous diet. Sulpicia was loyal and deserved to have a friend he hadn't slept with, and Carlisle would probably prefer it as well.

_Carlisle._

Most of all, he wanted his old friend to come back, and ease his loneliness. Carlisle, the only one who never toadied, and never flattered, never wanted anything but the pleasure of his company. These thoughts, of course, were secret. Any similar thoughts he had anywhere near Edward, those thoughts were ordered to stay hidden with the rest. His thoughts obeyed, as everyone did. Aro was always in command of his emotions.

Well, almost always.

Only twice in his vampire life had his emotions overtaken his rational mind, and Aro did not permit himself to think of that. He wished Marcus would follow his example, instead of wallowing for all eternity on things that could not be changed.

He walked in the room, much like a cat slinking by, perhaps to interact, perhaps not. He hadn't decided yet. Addict that he was, he touched his hand to his brother-in-law's shoulder, one mere tip of his finger coming into contact with the papery skin so much like his own. This was a familiar mind, and he slipped past the constant suffering and unbearable memories to get to what he craved most: the talent.

Ribbons of color, swirling around everyone. Bright ropes, like umbilical cords, tying mates and siblings strongest, followed by close friends, then casual lovers and so on. Temporary tentacles of hatred and jealousy, whipping around, sometimes with accuracy, like that of Edward for Demetri. Sometimes the tentacles just flailed, like those of Chelsea's pathetic mate, particularly whenever Aro took her to his bed, or put Afton in his place. Jane's hate was glorious, violent, and perfectly precise. Her loyalty to him was a lovely bright purple ribbon rivaled only by the blue binding her irrevocably to her twin.

Edward and Bella's bonds were still each other's strongest connections, though just remembering the pure blue between Carlisle and his first-made son made Aro sick with envy. At the very thought, through Marcus he saw a tentacle of his own reach out to strike Edward, and he pulled back just in time to stop it, but not soon enough to keep the surprise from flickering in the young man's eyes.

Aro raised his eyebrow slightly, as he realized there was a hole in scheme to keep Edward from seeing his hand- how much he truly desired him as well as Bella, for their talents. Edward could see Marcus' talent just as easily, though only in the moment. He could see Aro's own tentacles of jealousy and spite lashing out, and the deep magenta tendrils of desire. Edward could see this any time Aro was in Marcus' field of vision.

Both men frowned simultaneously, and Aro thought again how similar they were. Just to even things out, Aro placed his other hand on top of Bella's fine dark hair, allowing himself the pleasure of a soft, human touch without the interruption of _all those tiresome human thoughts_. He heard the undertone of Edward's growl, and laughed.

_See, Edward? I don't have to touch you to know how much that would annoy you, _he thought pointedly at the young vampire. _You react exactly as I would. You condemn me for wanting to possess, but you are just as guilty as I, if not more so._

Aro smiled at Edward's briefly troubled expression. Aro, with his signature talent and a little bit of help from Marcus, was very good at figuring out how to win someone over. He knew even without touching him that the key to winning over this sharp young man had to do with respect, because that is the only thing to which Aro himself responded. Edward was clever, even for a vampire. He sensed through Marcus that Edward also respected Aro's intelligence, and feared his power.

Given enough time, Edward would see that his place was with the Volturi, or his respect and fear of Aro would lead him to the conclusion that he might as well stay and enjoy the prestige. And if he didn't, the boy's temper would surely get him somewhere down the line. He would break his part of the bargain, and they would belong to him, without question or argument.

Edward frowned again, and Aro's smile grew, thinking of several ways to goad the young man's temper, and watching the tentacles whip out at him in Marcus' mind. Angry, red tentacles that Edward couldn't hide, no matter how disciplined the mask.

_See, my boy? It works both ways. _Aro thought smugly. _The real question is, are you more intelligent than you are hot-tempered? And for how long?_

Edward's fiery tentacles slowly retracted as the bond for his mate pulsed with intensity. The boy was learning, mastering his volatile emotions just as Aro had once been forced to do. Edward was accomplishing the task very quickly. He was disciplined, organized. He was one to watch out for. Aro tried in vain to stop his own admiration showing, his desire to acquire for his court this brilliant youth, this flattering mirror for his own personality, but the images were all-to-clear in Marcus' unrestrained mind, for both vampires to see.

Respect and fear were never far apart, nor were admiration and jealousy. These four elements together made for a very volatile combination, even more so when mirrored in two such similar personalities.

Aro decided then to withdraw, a temporary retreat in order to keep his secrets.

_After all, _I_ can always read _you_ through his memory, _Aro taunted mildly as he left the room.

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**A/N: Lots more FGB scenes and chapters to come!**

******(repeated from a late edit to chapter 36:)**

******I also want to thank whoever nominated Canzone for two Vampie awards (in Best Overall and Best Volturi/Nomads)**

**The list of nominees and link to voting is over here: http:/twificpics(DOT)com/vampawards/?page_id=198(DOT)**


	8. Imperfect Recall, Ch 35 MarcusPOV

**A/N: Big thanks to AlixMaret for buying this scene for charity, and for letting me share it with everyone. **

** So I half about half the prompts for FGB, and I'm mostly writing them in the order they were received. When AlixMaret gave me this prompt for one of the two drabbles/scenes she purchased, it pretty much wrote itself. I've got several more FandomGivesBack scenes as well as the next chapter well under way. It's a bit of a bottleneck in my head at the moment, but they are coming.**

**All mistakes are mine- feel free to point them out to me. **

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**Imperfect Recall**

_~M3D~_

"Say it again?"

I shake my head, laughing at her childishness. Even good things get old, eventually.

"Say what again?" I stall.

She giggles: a glorious sound. I make up my mind to tease her more often.

"You know."

"Again? We have perfect memories," I remind her, just in case something's wrong with hers. "You might as well just think of any of the last two thousand times I repeated it. Don't you get tired of it?"

"Of course not," she says, sounding hurt. "How could I? Don't you still mean it?"

"Parts of it haven't applied for hundreds of years."

"I don't care," she pouts. "Please?"

Of course I will, but I'm tired of repeating the same words yet again, even though in truth I love them more than she does. They are words I said to her when we were still human, to win her love. By some miracle she remembered them after the change, and they were the first words I wrote when I first discovered writing. The tablet has long since crumbled, but it doesn't matter.

"It's not the same!" She laughs, poking my chest with her forefinger. "And you know it."

Her dark curls spill over my bare chest, silk on marble. She peers up at me, her laughing eyes pleading, her dimples destroying my surly mood. Our ribbons wind round us, pulsing with vivid colors.

I try one last time to interest her in some variety, but I can tell her mind is set.

"I brought you new poems," I offer, reaching for a cream-colored scroll on the shelf behind our pallet. "I think you'll really like this poet. Such a better writer than I was as a human." I'm not being modest. My human efforts were sincere, but entirely pedestrian.

She puts her hand on my arm and shakes her head.

"I do want to hear the new poetry," she murmurs, her eyes soft with love, "but later. Right now I want you. Your words."

"You're a menace," I complain, relenting. "You always get your way."

"You love me," she says sweetly, and she's right.

I lie back, waiting for our connection to calm. I can see it swirling around us in the bright colors of our bonds. I never get tired of seeing our love, the deep-hued, sparkling blues, purples and reds that show affection, loyalty and passion. I love to watch them as much as she loves hearing my silly words.

"_I adore you," _I reply, beginning the ritual.

I smile as joy spills out of her in glistening gold and lavender rays, filling my heart so completely that there is room for no other emotion, no darkness, no pain.

"_I adore you," _I repeat, caressing her beautiful face. _"I adore your sweet smile and your laughter. I want to hear it always. I want it to be the first thing I hear when I wake, and the last when I go to sleep._

_I make excuses to see you. My friends mock me for walking a longer route, in hopes that you might cross my path. I don't care. If I see one glimpse of you, walking with your mother, it is worth my time. Your brother and father give me tasks, each more difficult than the last. I welcome the work, because you are worth every effort, and for you I will win their approval._

"_You make everyone who sees you love you, just as the sun makes everyone warm. When you are not with me I worry that someone else will win you, and so I wear out my hands, hunting and working and building. Sleep does not come if I don't see your face._

"_Your hand touched mine only once, but it made me your slave. If you will let me, I will give you the home I have built, because I made it for you. I will give you new furs to sleep on, fine colored stones to grind into dyes, and you shall never be without meat. If you say so, I will live there with you. I will never beat you, nor scold you, but praise your beauty every day. I will adore you like this all my days._

"_If you have me, I will give as many goats as you want. I will give you children, and you will be happy as long as I walk the earth. Please tell me you'll have me."_

"I will have you," she whispers, and her lips brush mine, completing the memory.

Although my human recollections have all but disappeared, our ritual has kept this one human memory intact. I can still feel the distant echo of my human heart beating like a war drum, the flood of relief when she agreed.

"_Marcus, what is your vote?" _

Her brother's voice filters in, cutting through the fragile images playing like a film in my mind.

The illusion is gone. She is gone.

The world is no longer filled with beauty and joy. It is gray and wicked, save for a few bright spots here and there. This reality…is rudely intrusive. I wish it would go away.

But they want something from me, and the sooner I give it to them, the sooner I can get back to her.

I open my eyes reluctantly, and take in my surroundings. Even though I have not been paying attention, the information is there, in the relentless recordings my vampire mind makes whether I like it or not.

Three vampires stand before us, blind and deaf, not even feeling Aro's touch. Two of them are obviously newborn, the whites of their eyes bloodied from the trauma of change. Their maker, a nondescript vampire of Hungarian origin, looks grim and is most likely aware of what will happen to him. To his credit, he does not scream or beg.

Chelsea has loosened their pale, weak bindings, which limply reach, searching but never finding, thanks to her cruel talent. This is where she truly shines, even if Aro and I are the only ones who can truly appreciate how much. Without those bonds, the accused stand desolate, far more willing to die than they would be otherwise.

I can sympathize.

Aro's touch has proven them guilty of willful exposure on four separate occasions. Twice the older vampire covered their tracks and killed the humans involved, but twice he has also failed. The newborns are far too undisciplined. Their maker is careless. He has only just mastered the art of creating vampires and, according to Aro, he intends to make several more. I feel Aro may be leaving out some details of importance, but the facts are clear enough. An execution will satisfy Caius' need for justice, and Aro's need for violence, now that one of his favorite 'children' has been banished from court.

"Your vote, Marcus?" Aro demands impatiently. He almost always votes last.

"I agree with you, Caius," I say with some struggle. "Guilty."

"It is unanimous, then," Aro says, nodding to Alec. "Jane, I believe it is your turn."

No longer needed, I leave my throne and make my way back to the library's quiet, where I can find her. She would not be present in this in life, and I will not insult her memory by imagining her there. Besides, it is impossible to completely ignore an execution, let alone three executions when Jane is involved. I find our chair and inhale, but her scent exists only in my perfect memory.

"You are right Didyme," I say to her empty seat, imagining her there.

When I close my eyes I can see it perfectly. Every shiny curl, every gesture, every time she laughed. I can even recall every touch and the golden undertone of her pale skin when it reflected the sunlight.

I remember the way we loved, and the way that love wound around us, but when I open my eyes, I only see my own love, pale and faded, always reaching for her, and finding only memory.

"The memory may be precise, but it isn't the same at all."

**A/N: The peek into the trial was for the handful of people were curious about the vampires who were executed after Demetri was temporarily banished. **


	9. Stag Party! Chapter 36 outtake for FGB

**Edward's Stag Party **

**Big thanks to Ksuvoge for donating to the Fandom Gives Back and for sharing! This is probably the most requests for a specific outtake I've ever had. Also I thank Ksuvoge for asking for a bit more detail on a few things Carlisle didn't really want to talk about. Yes, that is your warning. There's a lil' touch of kink in here.**

**I promise I'm working on chapter 37, but some of these outtakes are much better posted before than after. I hope you enjoy!**

**Carlisle POV**

"I'm not telling you that," my eldest son growls, glaring at Emmett, who is clearly enjoying himself.

"Okay, so what's her favorite position?" he asks, dimples flashing.

"I'm not telling you that, either!" Edward shouts, his patience obviously worn out. "Bella would be mortified if I told you anything about what we do."

"His heart is in the right place, Edward," I offer, "even if his method is a bit brash. Emmett, your brother may have lost his virginity, but—" I hesitate for a moment, rethinking my wording.

"But he's still a prude, got it," Emmett finishes for me. "Sorry, Edward, I'll try to make it less personal. Still it would help if you could give me a hint about your experience so far."

Jasper smiles widely, and a light-hearted calm settles over our tight circle. I'm amazed at how well the three of us seem to be hiding our secret from our mind-reading groom. This thought earns me curious look from Edward, but I shake it off, refocusing.

"Just think your questions," I advise. "And try to keep any thoughts of Bella out of it. Perhaps a discussion of general concepts would be best."

"Fine, we'll do it the no-fun way," Emmett agrees. "Let's talk about boobs. Did you know that the right tongue technique can make a woman come by her tits alone?"

Edward winces.

"Is it really necessary to barrage me with pornographic images of you and my sister?" he complains. "Are you trying to make me impotent? Besides, Bella is human. There's a world of difference."

"Not as much as you might think," I interrupt. "Everything functions exactly the same. It's just a difference in tissue strength and temperature. If you're careful you should be able to do whatever you like."

"Not whatever I like," he scowls. "I mean, some things I can't exactly test out without doing permanent damage."

"Like what?" I ask, though I have an idea of where he means. Silently I send a generic image of a man performing cunnilingus on a woman.

"Exactly," he says.

"Actually, it's safe," I admit, more than a little uncomfortably. "Your venom won't harm her at all. In fact, venom heals that area much faster than any medicine available today."

I stare down at our campfire, bracing myself for more of Emmett's expert advice. His methods of delivery are a bit crude for my taste, but I cannot say that Esme and I haven't benefited from some of his helpful suggestions. The man really is rather creative, and a little salty language now and then is a small price to pay.

After a few moments of waiting, the silence turns into an air of loaded expectation, and I lift my eyes to see three vampires staring at me in bewilderment.

"What is it?"

"I thought Esme was your first," Edward says with dark accusation. "How many times have you told me to keep it in my pants for the woman I want to marry, and now I hear that you've been running around performing oral sex on human women for how long?"

"What?" I object, shocked. "No! No… it wasn't like that at all. It was purely medical."

It was. Jasper grins knowingly, and I narrow my eyes at him. "Entirely clinical."

"Edward, wait, so are you telling me you've never tried to be a cunning linguist with Bella?" Emmett interrupts, feigning shock. "That is just wrong, man. That poor girl is practically still a virgin!"

Edward ignores him, glaring at me instead. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"First of all, you didn't ask," I point out. "And second of all, you weren't married yet. I assumed you would ask me in case of an injury."

"So what you're saying," Jasper smirks, obviously trying very hard not to laugh. "Is that you can heal a lady's business with your tongue but it's _entirely clinical?_"

"No, not at all! I never _used my mouth_ in direct application," I protest, feeling defensive. "Look, it's easy to collect one's venom. A small amount on any human wound will heal, rather than infect. If there's no wound at all it will only tingle a bit. You should be collecting some for Bella's change anyway, Edward. I think that more venom will make for a faster change, particularly in one so small, with minimal blood loss, and if you use a syringe, you won't have to worry about drinking her blood."

"I'm still having a difficult time imagining the first moment you decided to test this healing theory out," Jasper presses.

His interest seems to be more academic than salacious or mocking, which makes me more inclined to answer in kind.

"I've been practicing medicine far longer than the knowledge of germ theory has been around," I respond patiently. "First on common wounds, but eventually I saw the benefits for childbirth. Women used to die giving birth far too often, and frequently suffered horrible injuries even if they lived. I do not regret helping these women survive and heal."

"I knew there was a reasonable explanation," Emmett grins. "Don't get me wrong, Carlisle, it's not like you're not romantic, but I'd bet that you're the least pervy vampire in existence."

"Thank you, Emmett," I say, hoping this will keep him from saying anything else.

"Which is weird in a way, because you'd never think it to look at her, but Esme may be _the most_—"

"Emmett! Show some respect, please."

"I have nothing but respect for any woman that devoted to the promotion of domestic bliss, Carlisle, particularly when she shares her vast knowledge with my Rose."

"Actually, she's not anywhere near _the most_" Edward interrupts, "Esme is ridiculously vanilla compared to some of the Volturi."

"Seriously?" Emmett and Jasper say at the same time.

"Yeah, and Carlisle, you never told me that _Jane_ tried to seduce you. I almost called her a liar right in front of the whole court."

"It's not something I ever think about, obviously," I shudder. "Clearly it was a misunderstanding. Jane thought that only a masochist would stick to a vegetarian diet, and so she assumed that we might be…compatible in other ways."

"That _little freak," _Emmett says, looking dangerously fascinated. "How far did she get with you? I mean, is it all about her pain rays or does she try physical stuff too? How would that work for vampires anyway?"

"Emmett," I warn, unwilling to even think about the worst hour of my existence. "I'm not talking about this."

"Rosie and I tried spanking once but it just seemed like a waste of time."

"You could use fire, maybe cigarettes?" Jasper offers. "And sometimes biting can get a little rough."

_He's getting a little too close to the truth for my taste, Edward_.

"I don't think Bella and I would really be into any of this stuff," Edward says helpfully, looking hilariously horrified. "I don't even want to think about any of it while she's human, anyway. Could we get back to the um, stuff we mentioned before, that would be safe for her?"

I'm just relieved that I'm not the biggest prude in the bunch. I might have been eighty years ago, but then Esme started reading erotica and I can't really deny her anything when she smiles at me so sweetly and calls me her _handsome doctor_. I especially can't deny her when she fills the bathtub with hot rose-scented water and wears those bridal negligees that become completely transparent when wet, showing her every detail of her perfect breasts and the junction of her—

"Good lord, _Carlisle,_ do I have to block you now too?" Edward protests. "Esme's like a mother to me, for crying out loud."

"I think Edward is sufficiently mortified for our purposes," Jasper drawls. "Maybe we should let him off the hook."

"I don't mean I don't want to hear this stuff," Edward frowns, looking and sounding truly distressed. "I really do, I _need_ to know how to please Bella without hurting her, but I just…don't want to see my mother and sisters like that. I don't even know if we can talk about it without those images coming to mind automatically."

"Don't worry, lil bro'," Emmett says good-naturedly. "Alice saw this was going to be a problem, and she suggested a substitute a while back."

"Jasper?" I ask, and watch as my newest son scales a tall cypress near our small clearing.

Seconds later, he descends with Edward's Bachelor gift: a leather-bound book to which every member of the family has contributed our combined expertise on sex in general, and my knowledge of the precise ranges and limits of pressure to exert on human flesh, so that he can avoid damage.

"I did most of the anatomical drawings," I offer. "Though Esme and the rest did a few of their own. We made sure they didn't resemble anyone you know except in the most generic sense."

"Wow, thanks, guys." Edward looks a little embarrassed, but relieved too.

The rest of us make polite conversation about Italy, with my recommendations for avoiding sunlight, and what not to miss.

He starts thumbing through it and stops on a particularly interesting image of a woman in very high heels doing a graceful standing split, held in place by her partner. After a moment I realize that it's not really ballet that they're doing, but an improbable-seeming, but highly intriguing sexual position. There are two variations: one in which the woman faces her partner and one in which she faces away. Both would require some flexibility, not to mention good balance.

"Here on page forty-eight," he frowns. "Is that even possible?"

"That's one of Alice's," Jasper says with a huge grin. "She said Bella could get there if she takes up yoga. And you can always modify a bit till then. Just start with both of you kneeling instead of standing and it's much easier."

"Nice one, Jasper! I bet you could go pretty deep that way. Kind of like a split doggie, but with better tit/clit access," Emmett nods, dreamy-eyed. "And definitely pay attention to chapters three through twelve. You _need_ that, man. Ooh, look at page 172. It's Rosalie's all time favorite."

Edward furrows his thick eyebrows, turning page after page in a blur of motion until he gets to the recommended section. His eyes widen as he takes in an extremely advanced drawing of a naked busty woman in a specialized swing holding a rope. I'm familiar enough with the contraption to know that whoever holds the rope controls most of the action. Very nice if one's spouse is in a particularly playful mood.

"The genius part of this is that once you're both vampires, either one of you can hold the rope," Emmett grins and nods encouragingly at him. "But you'll probably have to hold it for now."

Jasper shakes his head, trying to contain his laughter, which means that I also have to struggle to hide my smile, and Emmett...well, he just laughs. Poor Edward, however, just looks bewildered as his obvious embarrassment mixes with Jasper's influencing mirth.

"Okay!" He says, snaps the book shut abruptly. "So thank you very much and I will definitely finish reading this and um, ask you if I have any clarifying questions later on. Probably by phone or email, if you don't mind."

"We should probably hunt some more," I say, feeling for his plight. "Especially since Jasper has to feel everyone's thirst in addition to his own. Let's see if we can find some real stags for this party, eh?"


	10. Aro, he's just like US! Act II

**This is my last outtake before posting chapter 37, which is nearly ready for beta. **

**Thanks to Mycrookedsmile for commissioning this for her FGB auction, and for sharing this crack with all of you. **

**I have to acknowledge my friend Algonquinrt, whose hyperbolic rants during musicfucking and on twitter (d0tpark3r) I channel while writing "funny" Aro. In this case, she did more than inspire, she helped me out by answering a bunch of celebrity questions "as Aro", so most of Aro's dialog was essentially written by her. Because I'm not so much into the celbrity stuff. Aro would be, though. Hardcore. **

**BPOV**

Edward hates it when I go to the vampire level of the library by myself, but all I want to do is return a damn book, and maybe get another. He'll probably yell at me later for taking the risk, but I can't justify interrupting his practice for something as trivial as a book return. I even sent Alice a text message and waited for her "all clear" before going, so I figure it can't hurt.

Walking downstairs, I notice that Marcus' usual spot is empty, which is a bit of a let-down, because I'm not sure what to read next, and his recommendations are always good. I'm just about to turn back when I hear a really disturbing sound. It's kind of like a witch cackle, but deeper and way freakier.

_I wonder if I can get out of here without talking to him._

"Isabella, my dear, come here, you _must_ look at this," he says, and from my vantage point all I see is his creepy hand waving at me. "You're an American, you must be familiar with this delightful publication."

_Guess not. _ I walk down the aisle, and can't believe what I'm seeing.

Aro, King of all vampires, or as close as you can get to that, is lounging around in one of the greatest and most secret libraries known to mankind, reading an American gossip magazine. He looks kind of...happy? Yeah, happy. Sort of. More like amused.

I come closer, and as he turns a page I can kind of make out what he's reading. It looks like a copy of _Us Weekly _with a glossy picture of...somebody I don't recognize on the cover_. _Whoever she is, she's kind of pretty and I think I'm supposed to feel sorry for her because she's been betrayed or something. I don't know, I only get to see it for a second.

"Wow, you read _Us _?" I ask, like a complete idiot. "I mean, obviously, you're reading it now, but I would have thought that you wouldn't be interested in that stuff."

"Oh, it's not my favorite source for gossip," he admits, looking down his nose a bit at the pictures of huge faces. "That would be Marcus. One touch reveals all when it comes to who's doing what to whom and how real it is and all that. But these magazines do keep one informed of various cultural trends. Why, do you think you're so far above them?"

I don't really care all that much about gossip, but Renee was always buying magazines like that at the grocery store and left them lying around our apartments, so I am indeed familiar with them at least.

"I uh, like the _Fashion Police _feature," I offer lamely, not wanting to remind Aro that I have a mother. "I'm a little out of touch with celebrity stuff. I don't even know who this lady on the cover is."

"One of the Kardashians, doesn't matter which," he says dismissively. "There are millions of interchangeable sisters, apparently."

"Why are they famous?" I ask.

"Reality television," he sneers. "Lamentable trend, to focus on an ocean of talentless, marginally attractive people who've somehow managed to become temporarily famous."

"I watched one episode of _The Hills _and still don't know why they would film that. What was the point?"

"_The Hills, _don't get me started," he rolls his eyes. "That Heidi is so full of plastic and Botox I doubt she's even edible any more, much less human. With that blank stare and air of desperation, she reminds me a bit of that human girl we used ot have working for us. What was her name again, Giada? Giulinana?"

He stares blankly into my eyes for a moment, and I start to wonder if that's some sort of message for me, so I scramble for something else to say.

"Wow, you watch reality television too? All those dating shows creep me out."

A little smile quirks the corner of his mouth, and I swear I can hear paper crinkling. It's probably the magazine, but it makes me notice _just how close_ he is to me, and I laugh nervously as I back away from him. He smiles even wider, and I'm pretty sure he's just messing with my mind.

"The only American reality programming I watch is _America's Got Talent _and _The Jersey Shore._ Don't tell anyone, because I feel I should be offended by that show, but somehow, I'm just not. It's a guilty pleasure."

I have no idea what he's talking about.

"I bet Angelina Jolie would make a good vampire," I offer, totally at a loss.

He says nothing for a moment, but actually winks at me. _Huh. _I wonder if they have an arrangement kind of like mine. Wouldn't shock me.

"She might, but I don't know about Brad Pitt," he says, shaking his head. "Too much marijuana, that one. Ugh, and that horrible name they gave them Brangelina. I cannot stand the couple names."

"TomKat, Bennifer," I add, nodding. "I don't know, though, it could be done nicely. I once knew this family in which they combined the names of grandparents and uncles and aunts for each kid. It was kind of sweet."

"Anyone who does that should be hunted down," Aro replies, throwing me a look of surprised disdain. "Thank the stars you can't spawn with young Edward, if that's your attitude. If you gave it a name like that I wouldn't hesitate to execute all three of you. Raise an army to do it if I had to."

Jesus. He sounds so matter-of-fact about it. He continues turning pages, as if he hadn't said anything.

"I guess you feel pretty strongly about that, then," I murmur, glad that he doesn't seem truly angry. Alice probably would have seen that. "Gross, Simon Cowell. He's horrible."

"Don't I know it," he seethes. "It's like he's trying to be _me, _but with absolutely no taste at all. I know some think I'm the devil, which, by the way, I find incredibly insulting and displays a lack of gratitude for my contributions to music, and I don't believe in that stuff anyway. But if there was a devil, it would be that man and his cronies, feeding pablum to the masses. I'm often tempted to send little Jane in for an audition."

"Can she sing?" I ask, startled.

"No, but I'd love to see _that_ on television," he chuckles darkly. "It would be the most original thing they've seen in years."

"_Do_ you ever influence popular music?" I ask curiously, looking at a picture of Lady Gaga at some baseball game, flipping off the camera.

"No, but I probably should," he admits. "If I did, this Gaga person wouldn't be so derivative. She can actually sing but she thinks she needs to emulate Madonna. If you can actually sing, why not just sing? Now Madonna had to resort to extreme measures to have a career. I don't think Gaga, _ridiculous name_, has to."

"What about her?" I ask, pointing to a picture of Ke$ha. "I have no idea how to pronounce her name, but I did hear one of her songs and it took me a whole week to get it out of my head."

"I would have nothing to do with her musical career," he says, blandly. "If I did, I can assure you that she'd be far better dressed. I did like her NPR interview, though. It was nothing short of genius. She's working the cattle mentality of humans with a surprising amount of insight for someone her age. I'd like Eleazar to meet her. She might make an interesting addition to the guard."

"Look they're still following TomKat," I point, glad to see some people I recognize. I am so out of touch since I started listening to opera. "But it looks like it's just about him promoting Scientology again."

"Scientologists," he sighs dreamily. "Did you know they occasionally run tours through Italy? It's always a pleasure when they visit Volterra. A great pleasure indeed. Such a shame that Mr. Cruise has never joined one of them."


	11. Backfire: Demetri Act II

**Backfire**

**A/N: Thanks to lizf22, who bought this to help cure cancer in children, and who was kind enough to share with you all. This one is for all the Demetri lovers and haters, and anyone who has wondered what his deal is. It starts off right after Aro gave Bella the "V" necklace in chapter 25, and ends with an overlap of a scene in chapter 32. Enjoy!**

**xXx**

"I never said you couldn't have her, Demetri," Aro clarified, setting up the white chess pieces. "Only that you mustn't harm her. There's no need to pout. Come, play."

Demetri had been, in fact, pouting, but he perked up considerably at this new bit of information.

"I am allowed to have her?" The younger vampire asked, moving to sit opposite his sire, but did not touch the dark pieces. "Master, I don't understand. I can take her? Do you mean when he goes out to hunt? Won't he get angry, and claim I'm violating your agreement?"

Aro stared blankly at Demetri until he reluctantly set up his pieces, after which he immediately advanced a knight. He smiled fondly at the handsome tracker, who was in many ways his favorite after Jane. Demetri was selfish and spoiled, but very competent, and a very good sport.

Not the best at chess (he preferred action over mental exercises), Demetri merely mirrored Aro's moves. He always liked to get into his opponent's head before striking. Plus, he was far more interested in the conversation.

"If you do it right, Edward wouldn't need to know about it," Aro smiled wickedly, knowing that young Cullen was at the reserve, hunting, and therefore out of mind-reading range. "I think we should offer them the world and see what tempts them, don't you? Young artists tend to be sensual creatures, prone to youthful indiscretions as well as ideals. Grand passions and curiosity usually win out over whatever ethics they think they have. I doubt that dear, quiet Isabella would know what hit her if you turned on the charm."

They played quickly, the wooden pieces clacking and whooshing as they spoke.

"You want to hold it over her head," Demetri observed, eyes narrowed in concentration. He would prefer it if Edward knew all about an affair. Taking a woman away from another man was more of a challenge, and he enjoyed the inevitable physical confrontation. It usually resulted in a husband or boyfriend beaten within an inch of his life, but with a tearful reconciliation with the woman Demetri was planning to dump anyway. A win-win, as the Americans like to say. Demetri loved to fight almost as much as he loved to fuck. "I guess you mean I should go now, while he's gone?"

He stood, looking and feeling slightly anxious. He didn't know why. She was just a girl, and Demetri knew girls better than anyone.

"Sit down, my boy," Aro sighed. "Not tonight, and not against her will. I did not mean for you to go off half cocked, I just wanted to be clear about my meaning."

"I'm always fully cocked, Master." Demetri raised one fine black eyebrow.

"Don't be childish," Aro snapped. "What I mean is that she must be completely willing. In other words, you are allowed to seduce her, if you can." He knew the taunt would strike home, and it did.

"What, you don't think I can?" Demetri asked, affronted. "She's human; it will hardly be a challenge. She'll be begging me for it in no time."

"Double points if you manage to do it by the New Year," Aro smiled. "You and Chelsea still play, don't you?"

"As always. I'll have her by All Soul's day," Demetri declared, thrilled at the chance to advance his game. Chelsea was currently ahead by twenty. "Seems fitting, doesn't it? How many points for that?"

"Fifty," Aro declared. "But remember, she has to be completely willing. I need leverage. If you can't persuade Isabella I'll have to settle for riling Edward's temper. You can help me either way."

"Have some faith in me, Aro. This is what I do best. Easiest hunt ever," Demetri smirked, moving his queen across the board. "Check."

"Let's hope your seduction skills are better than your chess," Aro observed darkly, moving one final piece. "Checkmate."

**xXx**

He hadn't gotten his double points, but by January, Demetri was far beyond caring about his silly game with Chelsea. She wasn't getting anywhere with Edward, either, and had already given up out of humiliation, moving on to another target. For Demetri, seducing Isabella meant more than winning a game, it was about proving his worth as a tracker, proving himself as a man. It had been over a hundred years since the object of his desire had eluded him like this, and he had no idea what he was doing wrong.

To say that it wasn't easy to seduce Edward's mate was a huge understatement. Demetri was starting to think it was impossible, but that had only served to fuel his growing obsession with the human girl. After a while, he stopped thinking of her as any girl and Edward's mate, and started thinking of her as Isabella. At some point, after All Soul's Day, perhaps, he began thinking of her as Bella.

He watched her constantly.

It had become his favorite past-time, trying to figure her out. What she would do, where she would go. She was only creature in Volterra he couldn't mentally track, so he reverted to the hunting tricks he barely remembered from his human life, before Aro found him. He quickly memorized her gait, her mannerisms, the walks she took and her habits. He could pick her out in a crowd quickly, and from any angle: the way her hips swayed gently as she walked in rhythm to the music on her headphones. He loved following close behind, to hear the music and watch the way her step would adjust to any song, any change in rhythm. He wondered if she was aware of it, or if it was just automatic.

He would catch a tiny glimpse of her and recognize her immediately, even if he happened to only see her hand as she reached for a peach at the fruit stand she preferred. He knew the curve of her slim, pale fingers and the way she'd hesitate, just before taking what she wanted. He imagined her touching him the same way, and it made his groin tighten with desire.

He didn't understand it. She should have given in by now.

Usually all he had to do to get a woman was simple vampire glamor. He'd look deep into her eyes, show a little interest and insight, flash his handsome smile, throw a few compliments and maybe an insult, and she'd be spreading her legs for him, begging for his cock.

Not Bella. Nothing conventional worked on her.

At first, he thought her clumsiness would help him, but it only seemed to embarrass and annoy her when he helped her. Compliments were wasted on her, as was his earnest attempt at a night-time serenade. He had considered trying to seduce her with poetry, but word among the Volturi had it that she actually knew something about the subject, so he didn't think that he could get away with passing off another's work as his own. He sure as hell wasn't going to write any himself.

The only time he seemed to make any headway with her was when he stopped trying to seduce her and actually spoke to her as if she were his equal, as if she were a vampire. What she had told him had been very revealing: the girl could hold a grudge. It was a trait he could admire.

More importantly, it was something he could work with. All he needed to do was let her see him doing good deeds. Spare a few humans, as he did the obnoxious woman she had defended. Maybe even go hunting for animals with Sulpicia and get a reputation as a humanitarian. He could always sneak in a human on the side sometimes. It would be worth it if Bella were to see him in a different light, and he knew that nothing turned a good woman on like thinking she had reformed a bad boy.

He'd start slow, giving her smouldering looks while asking her about the humanitarian life-style. He'd tell her about how he thought he was a wicked man, but how she inspired him to want to be good, a better man. A noble vampire with a soul. Women loved that. He could almost feel her legs wrapped around his waist as he thought about what he'd say, and how she'd respond.

Once he got to the music building, he paced in the shadows, barraging Edward with his thoughts. He knew exactly where he was, three floors up, close to a window. He wished he could find Bella as precisely, but he knew her schedule and figured she'd probably walk out this door.

_I know you see me, young Cullen,_ he thought restlessly. _I can feel you in my mind, you know._

He couldn't, but since he always knew where Edward was, and he knew the distance at which his mind-reading skills reached, he generally just assumed that Edward could be spying on him, and tried to watch his thoughts accordingly.

_I dare you to let me talk to her, _he taunted. _Alone, without interfering. Don't you wonder if she'd be faithful to you if really tempted? Don't you wonder if she wants what I can give her? If she's satisfied with your inexperienced pawing?_

He let his mind flood with images, memories of some of the women he had brought to ecstasy. Beautiful vampires, warm-bodied human women, begging him for more. Always _More, more, Demetri!_ once they got a taste. Renata, Chelsea, Heidi. Mmmm, yes, Heidi as a human, her mahogany hair so like Bella's, spread out on the grass as he took her virginity. Taking her over and over before finally taking her human life and giving her immortality as a reward for the affection he felt for her; the monogamy he couldn't offer and simply wasn't capable of. He let his imagination run wild, his mind's eye replacing Heidi's face with Bella's, and felt a twinge of guilt while his erection strained against the buttons of his jeans.

In the distance, through an open window of the music building, he heard the loud crash of piano keys and some low growling, and it made him laugh. Aro would be pleased at Edward's emotional outburst.

_I won't touch her,_ he thought._ I just want to talk to her. Don't you want to know if she's really yours?_

He took the ensuing silence as acceptance of the challenge, and watched for her in the flood of humans leaving the building. He didn't realize he was anxious until he saw her face, her dark eyes already watching him warily. She was nervous.

He thrilled to it: the chase was on.

"Go away, Demetri," she said, and he heard the faint echo of laughter from that same open window.

"I want to talk to you," he said, looking frustrated. "You could be nicer to me."

"There's nothing to say."

"Come on, be reasonable, Bella. I did you a favor, remember?" he asked, trying to use the full force of his vampire thrall. "I thought we were beyond this hostility."

Unbelievably, she ignored him, walking by as if he wasn't there at all.

He was furious. She was only human, after all. She should have more respect. If it wasn't for that damned V around her neck, she'd be afraid of him, and they both knew it. He felt it was time to remind her of this little fact.

"I can make you listen to me," he said angrily, stepping in to obstruct her path. He caught the full force of her glare. So much for intimidation.

"I could make you listen," he clarified, ignoring the glint of sunlight on her pendant. "but I don't want to. It would be easier for me and probably preferable to you if we speak here instead of me waiting for Edward to go hunting at night again."

He involuntarily pictured her as she was at the window on the night he had serenaded her, her thin robe clinging to her curves, her dark hair spilling over her breasts. Her thoroughly annoyed expression, which was pretty much the same one he saw on her face at that same moment.

He sensed Edward speeding down the stairs, slightly faster than a human should.

_Now now, Edward. I didn't touch her then either. I didn't even try to get in your sacred abode._ He recalled the rest of the visit in fast-forward motion to prove it, too.

Edward stopped, close enough to interrupt, but stayed out of view. Demetri smiled, realizing that the other vampire was both jealous and curious.

_Unsure what she'll do? Watch this, mind-reader._

"I know things," he whispered, thinking of a few of his favorite sexual positions, the ones that always made the woman scream in pleasure. "Things I guarantee you want to know. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

She didn't look curious. She looked pissed off. She was really pretty when she was angry, her dark eyes and pale cheeks blazing at the same time.

"You want to talk? Fine. Tell me what happened to that woman."

Of course he knew who she meant. Demetri had gotten into a bit of trouble for that one. After Aro had read her mind, he had ranted at Demetri for far longer than necessary, having to yell over the woman's shrill screams as Caius drained her.

"What woman?" he stalled.

"Right," she said decisively. "I'm done listening."

She walked around him again, and he followed until he could block her way once again without resorting to physical contact.

"I didn't do anything to her," he said, hoping she would try to push him. Any kind of touch from her would be progress at this point, but she didn't. "I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to her."

It was risky, but he knew he could draw her out if he hinted that he knew something. He just wanted to keep her talking.

"What did happen to her?" She asked, taking the bait. Then, as usual, she seemed to sense his tactic, and repulsed it. "No ... forget I asked. I really don't want to know."

Demetri was impressed, wondering if her deflection was part of her innate nature as a shield. He imagined what that could mean once she was turned vampire.

No wonder Aro wants her. She's very impressive. But she needs to get over that Cullen thing.

"Why do you care about what happens to them, anyway?" he asked, wondering why she bothered with things she couldn't control. She was usually more rational than that. "There's no need for you to concern yourself with how the Volturi enforce the law. Besides … you, Bella, are far more important than that troublemaker."

He stared deeply into her eyes, working his thrall again. At this point, any other human woman's gaze would become slightly unfocused and her mouth would automatically soften for his kiss. Bella's lips thinned into a hard line, and instead of softening, her gaze only sharpened, piercing through everything he thought he was, stabbing at his cold dead heart. She seemed to stare directly into his soul, or lack thereof.

Lacking. That's how he felt when she stared at him like this. It made him feel naked, and ashamed. Even worse, he thought he could almost see her soul, a glorious, frightening thing that was far beyond his own reach.

He stepped forward, trying to get closer to her, and she moved directly into the sunlight, her pale skin glowing, her hair darkly kindled with reddish tones.

"Don't," she said forbiddingly. " Just leave me alone."

He stood in the shadows, unable to move, as if Aro himself had given the order instead of a mere human girl. It took a moment for him to realize that his plan had backfired. He was now worse off than before.

"That isn't what I wanted to talk to you about," he said, letting the wind carry his voice away.

She didn't even look back, a very bad sign.

He didn't know what it was going to take to gain her trust, but he was certain that it would have to be bigger than joining the humanitarians.

**xXx**


	12. White Knight Sees Red, EPOV pts 3335

**White Knight Sees Red EPOV Parts from Chapters 33- 35 (Queen's Gambit + The First Trial + Maze of Secrets)**

**This is a Fandom Gives Back Long Oneshot For Just4ALE, Mortangel and Mechcat. I love you guys, hardcore. Thanks to them for sharing!  
**

**Much thanks to NelsonSmandela & Just4ALE, who gave it a quick quality check and caught some mistakes. Any remaining mistakes are my own. Also thanks to AdorableCullens and NelsonSmandela for holding my hand through some elements of this that made me a little uncomfortable.**

**Music!**

**Kronos Quartet playing Sigur Ros' Traveling Birds**

**youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=VW43jE7Oj_0**

**"Toccata" by Khachaturian**

**youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=Bfo4-CnJZQQ**

She's keeping something from me.

I don't say anything about it, nor do I try to wheedle it out of her as I have before, because I know that look on her face. I'd rather try to persuade Rosalie to do ten straight years of high school than deal with the futility of trying to get Bella to do anything she doesn't want to do once her mind's made.

I wait for her to go to sleep, hoping she'll talk and give me some hint of what's going on, but her stubborn streak seems to extend all the way into her subconscious. She does talk a bit, but she seems to think she's in a cafe, asking over and over for jasmine tea, each time in Italian.

After the fourth time through this, I take pity on her and play the part of the waiter, "giving" her tea and asking if she wants anything else. She frowns and says nothing further, while I sit at the foot of the bed, staring at her troubled expression until the thoughts of an approaching vampire invade my consciousness.

_I wonder if he can read my mind right now? _He thinks as he moves at a human pace up our stairwell, his thoughts twisting around like the winding spiral wood of the banister. _Can you hear me, Edward Cullen? _

Then the thing that always happens, happens again. Images flash through his mind of things he doesn't want me to know: forbidden sexual liaisons, minor infractions of rules. Showing his human mother what he was, and that he had not died but survived. Aro's face when he read this fact in the touch of his skin, his private assurance that it would be "their little secret". His gratitude, and allegiance toward Aro afterward. The only thing I don't see is his own face or any other indication that I might know him.

I wait by the door until he knocks, and then I wait a few more seconds before opening. He's familiar enough: a relatively short vampire with somewhat generic Mediterranean features. I've seen him before, but we've never been introduced. Nothing in his thoughts gives away his name just yet. I keep my expression neutral and my tone polite.

"How can I help you?"

Doubt flickers in his eyes.

_Does this mean he didn't read that?_

"I can only hear the thoughts in your mind as you think them," I answer evasively, as if he had asked his question aloud, not addressing his thoughts in the stairwell.

Giving people the illusion of privacy is often the best I can do.

"I have a message for you," he says, as the scene plays out in his perfect recall, his voice overlapping with that of Aro's as he speaks.

It's fascinating to see how people edit, vampires in particular. This vampire stays slavishly close to memory, altering only necessary words, like saying "he" where Aro said "I". It's not quite as accurate as it would have been had Aro bothered to use a telephone, but it's not his style. He never misses an opportunity to socialize and manipulate, and he seems to avoid anything too modern. If there's a subtle message in the medium (and with Aro there nearly always is), it's in the display of a loyal servant. I find it slightly alarming that he feels the need to press this point with me, but then "slightly alarming" is pretty much the best you'll get with him.

"And so Aro would consider it a great personal favor to him if, once the ladies have satisfied their curiosity about lions, you would see to the matter in Egypt the two of you previously discussed."

His expression and thoughts betray no knowledge of what Aro wants specifically, but in his mind there flickers the image of Amun refusing Aro's request for his memories. Impressively, his face remains impassive even while his mind fills with self-reproach.

_What have you done? _he thinks, and immediately thinks of Aro, calling him "Remus" on various occasions while grasping his hand. He looks at me warily, and I mirror his expression.

"And if I refuse?" I ask quietly, certain that he will report back everything I say accurately. "Not that I am refusing, I would just like to know my options."

Now Remus looks quite uncomfortable, and hesitates, remembering Aro's words and spider-like expression.

"_If he should refuse," _Aro had said, his eyes narrowing in malice, _"I would like you to remind him of our conversation in its entirety. Doubtless he will be worried about the safety of his beloved, who is, as he should know by now, always in the forefront of my mind. If he still refuses, bring him to me, and I'll explain it to him in terms he will understand."_

He looks at me questioningly, not wanting to repeat it aloud.

"I see," I nod reluctantly. "Did he say who would protect her?"

"He said that she will be well protected," he replies, looking affronted. "He gave his word."

Several sarcastic replies come to mind, but I squelch them all and don't reply for a moment. It's obviously pointless to argue, though every fiber of my being wants to. Remus stands utterly still, his face passionless, his mind restless, dreading the wrong answer. He thinks of several instances in which vampires or humans refused to do Aro's bidding, and invariably, that individual's execution on some "unrelated" matter.

I hear Bella stirring in the bedroom: her heartbeat speeding slightly, her soft feet padding on wood floors.

"When does he expect me to leave?" I ask quickly, to his relief.

"This morning," he replies. "The ladies are already waiting for you."

"I'll be there as soon as Bella's in school," I offer, preferring to have at least some peace of mind about leaving her in this ancient vampire town. It seems to be enough, and he nods.

"Within the hour, Edward," he warns.

I'll have to settle for a quick phone call to Alice on the way to pick up Sulpicia and whoever else has signed up for this field trip.

"I'll be there, Remus." I murmur, feeling either unwilling or unable to refrain from showing my knowledge of him.

Immediately he searches his memory for any exchange of our names, and he begins to wonder if I plucked it from his thoughts or if Aro had mentioned him, and why. Both of these options seem equally undesirable to him, and I want to kick myself for not having the grace to at least _appear _non-threatening. If my goal is to prove to Aro that I'm nothing like him, I'm failing miserably.

And he's playing me. I'm going to do exactly what he wants me to do, exactly what I swore I wouldn't do. I'm going to invade another vampire's privacy, and help Aro do to someone else what I'm desperately trying to keep him from doing to me. It's so twisted, and there's no reason to believe he won't do what he wants anyway.

I hear her quiet breathing behind me, and take a moment to compose myself before turning to face her. She stands in her long white nightgown, half hidden behind the bedroom door, her worried face framed by wild dark hair.

Her eyes hold questions and secrets, and I want to unburden her of both.

"It's Aro," I offer what I can, hoping she'll reciprocate. "I have to go. I owe him."

Her enigmatic expression doesn't change much as we talk, and I'd give anything to read her mind.

It takes me half a day to realize that she wasn't remotely surprised to hear that I was leaving.

**EEE**

I sigh with pleasure as the powerful lion in my arms stops struggling. His blood is by far the most satisfying I've had in over two years, and I lift him up to let gravity help me get as much of it as possible. He growls weakly in protest, and it doesn't take long before I toss his drained carcass to the ground with an enjoyable thud.

_What a waste of such a magnificent creature._

I close my eyes, trying to relish this moment, but my mind fills with the sight of myself through the eyes of a very dirty-minded Chelsea. Her "appreciation" and fantasies come next, and are so vivid that it's quite difficult to block them. Glaring at her doesn't help one bit, in fact, it only seems to fuel her on. She imagines us together in a rough, angry coupling, quick to compare herself favorably to Bella. She's curious about how satisfied I can possibly be under these circumstances, how I can stand to be so gentle all the time.

_Am I finally getting to you, Edward Cullen?_

"No, you oblivious creature," I reply tersely. "You're nowhere near 'getting to me'. I'm annoyed because you just ruined my meal with your revolting visuals. Get it through your head, Chelsea. Even if Bella didn't exist, I still wouldn't want you."

My words hurt her far more than I intended, but I don't care.

_Can he be serious? _she wonders, self-consciously. _I bet he wants Heidi. They all want Heidi._

"Bella is my mate, not that the concept means anything to you," I hiss, angering her. She's actually oddly loyal to Afton in her own way, but it will help our cause to remind her of that if we have any chance of getting her out of Volterra. "But yes, you're right- they _do all _prefer Heidi over you."

I almost feel guilty. Most people would find this revelation entirely too cruel, but I know how far I have to go to keep Chelsea away, and I'm more than willing to go there, for Bella's sake. Alice warned me that if I didn't make it unmistakably clear that I had no interest in Chelsea, the bitch would make Bella's life a hell of insecurity. Chelsea's own thoughts has have confirmed this, as she had made her first ridiculous efforts at seduction.

"Everyone thinks you're so compassionate," she snarls at me now. "You don't know anything about my relationship with Afton. _He _prefers me over Heidi."

"If you say so," I shrug noncommittally, just to throw a little doubt into her overconfident mind. It wouldn't hurt for her to pay more attention to him, and making her wonder is always more effective than a straight confirmation or denial.

It's getting late, so I race in the direction I last saw Sulpicia, checking her thoughts and vision against the terrain to try to find her location. When I finally catch up with her, she and the rest of the humanitarian club are sharing three lionesses fairly close together, having let two younger females and all the cubs go free.

"You were so right about lions," Sulpicia smiles, judiciously ignoring Chelsea, who is trying to make it seem as though we're somehow together by following close behind me, smirking. Doesn't she realize I can see her in the minds of everyone watching? "How did you do?"

"I caught the male over those hills," I nod, annoyed that I'm forced once again to humiliate another sentient being. "I have no idea what Chelsea thinks she's doing here, however. She won't hunt and she keeps following me, no matter how many times I tell her to go away."

I see Chelsea's face fall in the minds of these half-dozen witnesses, and hear their thoughts scatter furiously like birds at the sound of a gunshot. Some of them almost pity her, but most are enjoying the schadenfreude, including Aro's wife.

"There, there, Chelsea," Sulpicia soothes with mock sincerity. "Sometimes the prey isn't worth the risk involved. If you keep getting hurt, perhaps you should choose an easier mark."

_Like Aro? _Chelsea thinks loudly, a message needing no mind-reading to be clearly received by Sulpicia.

"Please excuse me; I have that errand to run for Aro," I interrupt. "_Alone," _I add for Chelsea's benefit, before turning back to the others. "Ladies, it was a pleasure."

I speed across the sandy terrain through Libya and Egypt on foot, only once having to hide in the shade of a sand dune when passing near humans. I feed again twice, calling Bella once my cellphone finally gets service, very near Amun's home. The call goes straight into voicemail, so I send her a text and call Alice right away.

"How is she?" I ask without preamble. "She didn't pick up when I called."

I keep replaying our goodbye this morning, and how odd it was.

"Her phone broke," Alice says dismissively. "I saw it happen, don't worry. Carlisle went in as soon as I called him, and I see you talking with both of them tonight."

"He did?" I ask, mildly surprised, and pleased at her reassurance. Something may be off, but if Bella is alive and well at the end of the day, then it can't be that bad.

"Thanks, Alice," I murmur, wishing I could read her mind from here. Wishing I could talk to Bella, just to hear that she's okay in person. "Maybe I should call him."

"You can, but he's not there yet," she informs me. "You'd only slow him down. Why don't you try after you go check out Amun's place?"

"I just got close enough," I mutter. "Alice, I hate everything about this. I don't even want to know what he's hiding. I don't want to give Aro any information."

"So far I don't see you giving him anything at all," she replies evasively, and I swear, whatever Bella's hiding Alice knows all about it. "But I think he'll send someone else when you don't, so you might as well find out what it is first."

"I just want to get home," I mutter, unable to find fault in her logic. "I'll call you back."

**EEE**

Alexandria has some surprisingly tall buildings, and from a distance looks like a madman's ornate sandcastle bathed in golden light. It's going to be tricky to get around without the sun giving me away, but I don't want to wait until nightfall to get started, either. It doesn't take me long to find an empty house near the coast, where I quietly break in and borrow an umbrella. It's not the most elegant solution to the problem of exposure, but it's the fastest.

I really hate everything about the day except for the lions, I think before honing in on the sharp thoughts of vampires among all the fuzzy human minds. Four vampires, not two, as previously reported.

I move closer, grateful for the full coverage from the sun provided by narrow streets and tall buildings this time of day. How can they live here? They'd obviously have to stay inside during the daytime. I wonder if they have extensive underground passageways, like the Volturi.

A female vampire calls out for someone named Benjamin, and begins speaking a language I've never studied, but judging from the images in her mind it seems that she wants to go to a particular store before it closes. Then I get lost, because it seems like she's asking another vampire for cloud cover. It makes no sense whatsoever.

Now I can see her through the eyes of the other vampire, and it is in fact Kebi, Amun's mate. Through her eyes I can see him, a tall, gentle-faced vampire with clear, kind thoughts. I like him immediately, intuitively, and I can't imagine him being in the same coven with someone as shifty as Amun. But then again, my impression of Amun was, like so many things, tainted by the presence of the Volturi. I replay my memory of our brief encounter until this Benjamin distracts me by having some of the most unusual thought patterns I've ever witnessed.

I focus on his mind, which seems to flex mysteriously, imagining dark clouds over the sea, and a calculation of hydrogen and oxygen particles in the air. I listen so intently that it takes a moment for me to notice the sudden storm clouds appearing from over the water to the north of the city. They are identical in appearance to the clouds in Benjamin's mind.

Impressive. I can see why Amun would want to hide such a talent.

I see them now as they emerge from a house, oblivious to my watchful eyes. Her mind seems to be occupied with her task, as if she didn't just ask for the weather to change and get exactly what she wanted. As if that was a commonplace occurrence. His thoughts seem to focus on holding the clouds in place.

Weather control. It seems like a plot from some cheesy spy movie. Alice isn't going to believe this.

Just as I'm reaching for my phone, it starts ringing.

"Did you see that or do I get to tell you?" I ask, adding as an afterthought, "Hello Alice."

"Hi Edward," she says, her voice full of shadows.

I don't have to read her mind to know that something is off.

"Alice?" She hesitates too long, setting off all kinds of alarm bells. "Is it Bella? What happened? Is she okay?"

"She's fine, just minor injuries, Edward," she says warily. "Carlisle found her in plenty of time."

Relief and rage battle through me at once.

"Tell me everything," I demand, struggling to keep from shouting.

"First I have to tell you something," she says, her voice wavering. "You're going to be very angry with all of us, but I'm really the one to blame."

"Just tell me."

She exhales sharply, and speaks rapidly.

"I let Demetri hire some thugs to kidnap her, which he did so that he could look like a hero, and Bella went along with it because I told her it was to save your life."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not kidding, Edward," she says softly. "And I didn't lie to her. If you had known about it you would have been executed by midnight tonight. But right now Demetri's standing trial instead. Carlisle's taking care of everything."

At first, there's nothing. My mind remains blank as I try to process her absurd statement, but then something red and evil explodes in my mind.

"So he's still there?"

"Not for long, Edward-"

The phone cracks as it hits the sidewalk.

**EEE**

I'm halfway through Libya, dodging the observation of humans when I realize my mistake. I ought to have gone directly into the sea at Alexandria, but in my anger I've automatically retraced my steps instead, wasting precious time.

_And he could get away. _

The red thing has made me as careless as it has made me vicious, and worse, it gives credit to Alice's actions. I try to untangle the chaos in my mind.

_Who knows what kind of idiocy you would have committed in Volterra had you found out there? Obviously...catch him, rip him apart, feel his destruction and watch his face as he realizes it's over, that I've won, that's what. _

Cursing myself for delaying or possibly missing that opportunity, I adjust my course, and pretty soon I hit the water, gliding like a torpedo through the dark depths, barely changing course to avoid slow-moving sea creatures. They swirl clumsily in the confusion of my wake. I hit a shark, feeling grim satisfaction in the crunch of teeth and cartilage.

In the cool blue, my hot fury sharpens into a cold rage, and my mind begins to reel with resentments and questions.

_Fucking Alice. Talk about vicious. _

As long as she sees the outcome she wants, she's willing to use anyone and anything necessary. And Carlisle (who should be loyal to me, as I am his firstborn, and she is just…well, his adopted "child" through my actions, which frankly makes it _worse_)... Carlisle just goes along with it, as long as her outcome involves lives saved. Another burst of speed at this unfairness sends a small fishing boat into a spin, and I take yet another precious minute doubling back to steady it.

_Why,_ _why? Why would she do it? How could she put Bella at risk in this way? _None of it makes any sense.

Unless she's telling the truth. I try to imagine everything going down without Alice's intervention. Demetri "saves" her from a kidnapping, and I attack him, not only to meet swift and brutal retaliation in the form of a very eager Felix, but a trial and without a doubt, more blackmail. At the minimum, we'd be stuck in Volterra forever, serving Aro, which is exactly what he wants..

_I would have had to kill Demtri very swiftly to be able to do it at all. _

Then I might be executed, too. It would be hard to escape it, and Bella would be turned by Aro, maybe even forgetting about me. Would she end up mating with another vampire or—and I don't know what's worse—like that poor shell of a vampire, Marcus? Obviously, these choices are both unacceptable, which leads me back to Alice.

_Then why tell me like that? Her words almost seemed designed to make me as angry as possible?_ Everything Alice does is designed to bring about a certain outcome. Terrifyingly practical, yes, but this particular plan makes me think that Eleazar had some influence. Or at least Machiavelli and Sun Tzu.

_What is the outcome?_

At the most basic, obvious level, she gave me the incentive to return to Volterra much faster than I would have in any other circumstance. She also prevented me from experiencing the worst, most irrational part of my anger in a place where my initial reactions could cause a lot of damage. Intellectually, I can almost see how I should be able to appreciate this.

But I don't. I really, really don't.

It's disrespectful. Manipulative. Controlling. Unacceptable.

Disturbing.

It's disturbing to realize that I've read the thoughts of this kind of rage in others, but I've never quite felt the emotions behind it. The red haze and murderous thoughts are what I used to search for during my short time as a vigilante killer, but I've never felt the overwhelming emotion that goes along with it. I always thought I was better than them.

Obviously I'm not. And of course Carlisle would do what he could to save me from myself. He always had. Cooling slightly, I turn my thoughts back to the matter at hand.

_Demetri can track me. _If he _is_ tracking me, this would seem like an impressive display of speed.

By the time I get to the eastern coast of Italy, I'm thinking strategy and the red thing in my mind, while ominously present, no longer controls my actions. I regret breaking my phone, in part because I want to yell at Alice… but I also want her help. After the yelling, which I predict will be _very _satisfying.

I manage to find a desolate spot on the coast (not an easy task) and run, scanning the minds of all around me.

Though I'm not close enough to read his mind, I can feel him tracking me, just like most people can feel when they're being watched. Another burst of red fuels my furious speed as I begin to make plans for his presence or absence, now that the worst has been avoided. I'm not stupid enough to think that the Volturi will have him executed, and they're not stupid enough to think I will meekly stand by and _coexist_.

The closer I get to Volterra, the more I'm able to control myself. I decide to slow down once I get close enough to hear everyone's thoughts. That way, in the highly probable event that whatever details I hear will anger me again, I won't do something stupid that can't be undone. As angry as I am with Alice, I won't ruin the only good part of her plan.

I see Volterra, perched on its hills like a huge bird of prey, and begin to make a huge circle around it until I begin to hear their thoughts, the vivid sharpness of their minds a welcome contrast to the soft vagueness of humans and the even more vague minimalism of most animals.

Predictably, they're replaying the trial in their minds, and the only obstacle to finding out what I need to know lies in choosing a mind to get a coherent picture.

Bella at the center of it all, looking brave and innocent, though I know better. Now that I can see the proof of her survival, I feel the surprising urge to wring her little neck myself, or at least make her cry. That is definitely new territory.

Demetri, clumsy and begging, leaving in shame: _"It was an accident. Bella, I'm sorry, please forgive me." _

_Fat chance, douchebag. You may have escaped for now, but I will eventually get you._

Caius, surprisingly vigilant in defense of the law. I had always assumed that his harping about legal matters was a convenient pretext for getting what he wanted, but his passionate railing against Demetri's actions seem to indicate otherwise.

Carlisle, compassionate, protective, competent, and lying through his teeth. Aro, caught deliciously off-guard and struggling to keep up, for once. I have to admit, it's nice to watch, if only in the memory of others. Marcus, struggling against Chelsea's manipulations as he compares Bella's near-demise to the death of Didyme, as he begins to see himself in my situation.

The only thing that keeps me from losing my temper again is the _schadenfreude_ of seeing images of Aro, outvoted by his oldest allies and outsmarted by his most ruthless, unseen challenger ever. I have to hand it to Alice, as much as I disagree with _how_ she did it, her political success is pretty astonishing.

All the same, Bella could have died, a possibility that is completely unacceptable, no matter what the outcome. I also have a word or two to say about her bandages, and her presence among vampires while she presumably has _been fucking bleeding. Really, Carlisle?  
_

Perversely, I find myself revisiting the scene of the crime, finding the shallow graves of the kidnappers and traces of Bella's intoxicating blood in a patch of vines on a distressingly steep incline. The scent of her fear lingers among the leaves there, and it takes everything I have not to go strangle my father for agreeing to this.

I may have altered the side of the cliff a little.

I finally get enough memories of the trial and exile to feel like I have a clear enough understanding of it, and turn my attention toward everyone's expectations of me now. I find myself mildly gratified to read an enormous amount of sympathy for me in their minds amidst their speculation as to what I will do. Aro and Carlisle, knowing me best, have already begun talking to me as if I am already in the room, predictably shrouded and pleading, respectively.

The most interesting possibilities come from the mind of Caius and Marcus, whose opinions seem to matter most, for once.

Finally deciding upon a course of action, I stand up and get ready to give them all the show they've been waiting for. I'll wait till we're back in the apartment to give the shadow players my real reaction.

**EEE**

"Either way, I'm going to kill him."

_Edward, no! _Carlisle's inner voice betrays his alarm. _I know you're upset, but we do not murder._

"Surely you can't pretend to be shocked, Carlisle," I seethe. "This is what everyone expected, isn't it? My understandable and predictable rage? Every one of the Volturi understands my emotion right now; why can't you?"

"Because we are not the Volturi, Edward," he reminds me gravely. "There's a reason we are nothing like them, or have you forgotten?"

Ashamed of myself, but still too angry to think straight, I go to the window and let in some fresh air. I ignore the two traitors on the couch as he checks her injuries, which _shouldn't exist in the first place, _trying to distract myself with thoughts and words from the street below.

For a moment, I give in to my fantasies, imagining Demetri's death at my hands as I rip his arms and legs off and fling him into a white hot flame. I do it over and over, in different scenes, but every time I try to insert a fantasy Bella, looking on in approval, I only see her disappointment. In many ways, she is already a better Cullen than I.

Again, I focus on the street, this time with more success. I see and hear the usual parade of horny fantasies, along with the murmured pre and post-coital conversations of several couples. One middle aged husband and wife make love right across the street, and their imaginations are surprisingly lush with passion and adoration. I try to ignore it, but for some reason in my current mood, the onslaught of sensual imagery makes me wish Carlisle wasn't here, so I could either yell at Bella or fuck her senseless- preferably both at once. I need to feel her, alive and throbbing around me. I want to make her beg for forgiveness for putting herself in danger.

I want to change her and run away.

Bella's heartbeat slows, and I hear her yawn the second time in the space of ten minutes. She leans her head against the back of the couch, already half asleep.

"You must be exhausted," Carlisle observes. _Edward, come be nice to her. She's had a horrible day._

I raise my eyebrow at him, as if to tell him how insane he is for reminding me of everything Bella did today in my absence. But he's right, offering yourself up to be kidnapped and dangling off of cliffs can really take it out of a person, I'm sure.

I push aside the bulk of my anger for a moment and walk over to her. Our eyes lock as I lean in to kiss her, catching a single tear between my lips as it slips down her cheek. There is no apology in her heavy-lidded eyes, only relief. I know the feeling.

"Come on," I murmur, helping her up. "We can talk in the morning."

I doubt she'll even remember this conversation.

"You mean yell?" she asks wryly through another yawn. Just because she's out of it doesn't mean she stops being difficult.

"Maybe." _Definitely. "_Do you want me to go in with you for a bit?"

"No, I'll be out of it as soon as my head hits the pillow," she admits groggily. "You probably have a lot to talk about with Carlisle."

She leans in and kisses me softly.

"Yell all you want, as long as you're here with me," she whispers. "That's all that matters."

She kisses Carlisle on the cheek, and true to her word, it takes less than a minute after she closes the bedroom door for her soft, barely-there snores to begin.

_Did you mean it? _Carlisle asks silently.

"About killing Demetri?" I ask. "Probably. I'm not going to go looking for him, but at this point I don't see him staying away from Bella. It's not in his nature to give up on a target. He never has, and he never will, Carlisle. I'm not just going to let him take her."

His thoughts are troubled, and he remembers Aro comparing me to himself, bragging about his influence over me. The way I've been acting, I can't blame him.

I'm a selfish, arrogant control-freak who has murdered, feeling utterly justified. I let my temper get the better of me time and again, so much so that my enemies use it against my mate, my family. I'm furious, but really I'm the one who put Bella in danger, just by my very nature. Carlisle is so good, he doesn't even consider this for a moment.

"What if he's right?" I ask quietly. "What if I am more like Aro than I am like you? If he had found me before you did, I'd probably be just as evil as any of them."

"You, like Aro?" He asks, laughing. When I don't laugh, he looks at me incredulously. "Edward, what on earth makes you think that?"

"He has a point, Carlisle. Without you, I'm just as controlling as he is. I've seen what his temper looks like in thought form, and it's hauntingly familiar, Carlisle. Even _with _your influence I murdered people, and I justified my actions as he does. For all my talk about being good, I feel _relieved _that the decision to change Bella is out of my hands. I want her to change, but _her soul_, Carlisle. What does that make me? If you're the only reason I don't commit horrible acts every day, isn't he right?"

He gives me that look, the same one he gave me when I came back from hunting humans, horrified with myself and wanting forgiveness when I deserved none. I know that he will help me again, but it's not because of my goodness, it's just his own. Even now, knowing Bella is safe, I can't will myself to stop being angry. My head hurts with the violence I want to commit, but my conscience hurts even more. I stare at him, hoping for any port in this storm.

"Edward, it seems I've done you a horrible injustice," he says softly, taking my face between his hands. "I should have told you this before you came here, but I assumed that because you could read my thoughts, you'd know already. You may have things in common with Aro, it's true, but they are the things I admire in him. You're incredibly intelligent and perceptive, beyond your talent. But you show great compassion. You always have."

"I don't. You always give me too much credit." I confess. "I'm so angry, Carlisle. It's consuming me. I try, but I'm nowhere near as good as you. I'm not even as good as Rosalie. I don't deserve Bella's love, nor your trust."

"My stubborn children," he sighs. "You don't even realize it, but you just said it. _You try. _You want to be good, Edward, and that is a huge difference between you and Aro. Even when you committed murder, it was done to protect the innocent."

"I drank their blood."

"And you've done your penance," he reminds me. "You're angry right now, but if Bella had a true change of heart and didn't want you any more, you'd let her go. You'd probably sacrifice yourself for her happiness, wouldn't you?"

"It would probably be best for her if she did," I say morosely. "I'd help her hide, if that's what she wanted."

"_That_ is what makes you my true son," he says. "Aro is utterly incapable of such a thought. And I understand your anger at all of us, at Demetri. There's nothing wrong with wanting to protect your mate, Edward. I am proud of you. Always."

**EEE**

I should let her sleep.

After all, she's had a long day. However, there are a few questions I want answered, and I don't feel like waiting to hear the answers. Plus, I'm more likely to hear the truth if I wake her up now.

Like if she even thought about telling me. If she was remotely tempted to trust me. If she tried to persuade Alice, or if she just took her at her word, with no hesitation.

I sit at the piano and start playing the first song that comes to mind.

Her breathing changes slightly; her heart speeds. Soft whisper of fabric, the unmistakable sound of her bare feet on wood. A hitch in her breath, and her heart pumps even faster. I scowl, irrationally angry that she might be angry or afraid or any other negative emotion.

I inhale, trying to gauge her fear, and instantly regret doing so.

She's _aroused, _of all things_. _

And worse, her arousal automatically sparks my own, as well as my anger. Not a good combination.

"Go back to bed, Bella." Not that I trust her to, at this point, but it's worth a shot.

Of course, she argues.

"I don't think you _want_ me to sleep right now," she says, infuriatingly. "You're still angry, and yet you dress me in this."

I resist the urge to look, knowing exactly what she's wearing. _Fuck. _That is awkward. I'm not sure why I chose it, other than the obvious reason that if I had it my way, she'd wear that nightgown every night, if anything. This of course makes me think of her naked.

"I wouldn't let you sleep naked," I lie.

She calls me on it, her breath tickling my ear as her hair slips silky over my bare skin and her scent wraps around me. It's too much temptation, and I almost give in when I see the way her breasts strain against silk and lace. I turn back to the piano, trying to focus on my anger.

Too bad my cock is conspiring with _her. _I busy my hands with music, but it's a losing battle already.

"Angry isn't the word," I stall.

The situation in my pants tries to raise an objection to all this pointless chatter as it might delay gratification, but I tell myself not to, unfortunately out loud. It doesn't matter, because Bella wants what at least part of me wants. The rest of me is outnumbered, which just pisses me off more. She even teases me about the piano keys break, which makes me think she's not taking me seriously.

"You have no idea what it was like," I begin, willing myself to behave.

"I think I know exactly what it was like," she objects. "I was so scared, Edward. I heard what _would_ have happened, in graphic detail. Alice told me everything."

The worst thing she could have said. Barring mention of Demetri. She just doesn't get it.

"_That's _what I mean. It kills me, Bella. Knowing you chose Alice over me."

Somehow, this surprises her. Offends her even. She doesn't understand my anger any more than I understand her actions, so I explain it to her in as plain language as I can manage, holding her face in my hands.

"You deliberately put yourself in the path of men hired to lure you into danger, where my worst enemy was trying to take you from me. You dangled off the side of a cliff, bleeding while he hunted you, and I wasn't even there to stop him."

"I'd do worse than that to keep you," she tells me, and I have to clench my fists to keep from smashing them down into the piano. "You think I don't understand? I do everything I'm supposed to do. I always do everything I'm supposed to do, and I hate it, because it's still not enough to keep you safe and with me. It killed me to do something that would make you this angry, but I can't beg your forgiveness if you're not alive to forgive me."

"I'm not _alive_," I hiss.

She stubbornly interrupts me again.

"You know what I mean. To keep you, period. In the rest of the world, you may be infinitely stronger than I am, but destroying vampires is what they _do _here in Volterra. Do you have any idea how long it took us to figure out how to keep you animated and in one piece? Do you have any idea how much work it took her to get Jane and Alec away, and keep them away in time for your return?"

_Oh fuck. _Not once, not _once _did I think about Jane and Alec. I thought about Felix and just about everyone else. I had contingency plans in place for almost everything and anything, but nowhere in my furious calculations did I think about Jane, the most obvious choice. It's a shocking and unforgivable oversight on my part, and I flinch, remembering the pain she put me through with her talent. I think it would almost be worse to feel Alec's numbing and know that all is lost and will soon be over, with no way to fight, no time to say goodbye or see her face.

Things could have gone much, much worse.

"You forgot about Jane, didn't you?" she goads me on. "Their absence wasn't luck, it was planning. Every time you get angry and forget exactly where we are, Alice has to watch you _die, _Edward. And she calls me, just like she calls you, so don't you dare tell me I ever chose anything over you. I would risk my life a thousand more times if it means keeping you."

"Shut up," I say harshly. I've never said anything remotely disrespectful to her before. Her eyes widen in shock and I want to take it back immediately, but I also don't want to. She's killing me, and she still doesn't get it. "Don't talk about risking your life like it doesn't matter. Don't even think about it; do you understand?"

I hate myself for manhandling her, even more so when she has to tell me that I'm actually _hurting _her. Physically.

"I shouldn't be touching you now. I can't even―" _recognize myself. _ _What am I becoming? A murderer? A man who tells the woman he loves to 'shut up' and then treats her roughly?_

_No wonder they don't trust me. They shouldn't._

"Bella," I plead, trying to salvage anything good before I ruin everything with my anger. "I didn't mean to scare you."

As usual, she forgives too easily, brushing off what could have happened along with what already did.

"Did I hurt you?" I ask miserably.

"No," she says, her eyes calm and trusting.

"Would you even tell me if I did?" She doesn't answer, because she sucks at polysyllabic lying.

I skim my hands over her flesh to feel for bruising or swelling, but her skin and the silk feel so good I can't stop. I can be gentle, too. Even when my ribcage aches with guilt. Her hands tangle in my hair, and I revel in the contact, needing it.

Needing her.

"I'm fine," she says languidly, freshly aroused. "The piano was digging into my ass, that's all."

"I don't trust your definition of fine," I murmur, kissing her reverently, as I should, no matter how angry I am. "You're too fragile. Anything can hurt you."

Just thinking about those men hurting her makes me want to dig them up and kill them again. I'll take it out on Demetri when he finally makes his mistake. I hear wood cracking, making me realize mine.

"That'll show the piano it better not mess with your woman," she teases, and I'm officially done with trying to resist this.

I'll yell later. Right now it's enough to remind her of just who I am to her.

I take my time, driving her crazy and controlling the pace, licking and kissing her while I don't let her move much. I keep waiting for her to protest, but she obviously likes it. She likes it a lot, and so do I, even if I have to take out some of the excess energy on the piano to keep myself in check.

I know I've gone too far when she starts babbling, begging me to change her right now. So damned tempting, and she won't stop talking about it. I can smell her blood through her bandages, and I swear if I wasn't worried about the way her blood will taste I'd probably do it.

"We'll say it was an accident."

_She's your singer. You can't risk it. _

Emmett's encounter with his singer comes to mind, and I him warning me, over and over, but always in private.

_The others haven't mentioned it, because they don't know what it means to have a singer. You know I've killed a few people, and I know you've killed some too, so you'll know what I mean. As hard as it is to stop with any human, no force in the world could have stopped me from draining that woman. _

He doesn't even think I should change her, even though he admits that if I'm strong enough to make love to her I'm already more in control of myself than he was. Still, it's far too risky to just change her with no warning, not to mention the political shit-storm that would result.

I pull away, reluctantly.

"Fuck, Bella, you can't just say things like that," I say, trying to clear my head.

She's far too turned on to stop now, and she clings like a burr, using her own teeth on me as I suspect she'd like me to do to her.

"Sorry, wasn't thinking clearly. But I think about it. Don't you?"

Just hearing her say that nearly makes me lose it in several different ways, and I have to hold her still to keep from biting and fucking her at the same time. The reckless girl would probably love it. Her trust is mind-boggling.

One look in her warm brown eyes, glassy with lust, confusion and...hurt makes me realize that she has misinterpreted my actions.

"I want to- God help me- I want to," I confess dangerously. "I want to sink my teeth into you to make you understand. I'd make you immortal. I'd make it impossible for them to take you away from me."

My barely contained anger erupts, and before I know what I'm doing the piano bench cracks under the pressure of my grip. Somehow, I manage to keep the destruction to the inanimate objects around me as the incredibly animate Bella in my arms writhes and struggles. As much as I try to keep her still, she keeps pushing me.

"I don't want to hurt you," I warn.

"Then control yourself," she challenges, and so I do, just barely, breaking the piano beyond all hope of repair.

Since Alice is so good at predicting the future she's probably looking up piano dealers in Tuscany right now anyway. The wood and ivory and wires feel good as I transfer the chaos in my head into the violence at my hands. Somehow, none of this bothers Bella at all, her sounds of pleasure making me feel like a complete animal.

I can't get inside her fast enough. I rip my own pants but manage to save her nightgown, my body instinctively protecting that which cannot be replaced. She opens for me, and she shudders deliciously against me as I sink into her incredible heat. I take it as a good sign, and start to move inside her with more confidence.

As long as I keep Bella safe, everything else can go to hell.

"I mean it, Edward," She reminds me, like I don't know this already. If there's anything I know it's this. "I need you. Don't leave me alone with these demons. Don't provoke him. I won't end up like Marcus."

I'm too far gone to make any sense at this point, but there's one thing that she needs to understand, since she didn't seem to get the point with Demetri. Apparently I am a jealous man when it comes to her, and there's not a damned thing she or I or anyone else can do about it, so we're going to have to set some very firm boundaries.

"Nobody else's name on your lips while I'm inside you," I insist, bucking my hips roughly into her to underline the point.

_No more arguing out of you, missy._

The piano sways slightly, and I know it won't last much longer. She starts riding me anyway, her body moving like a snake, legs and arms coiled around me as I break apart everything that doesn't matter because it isn't her.

The piano crashes as I spin her against the wall, right on the window frame. The curtains flutter ghostly around us, as do the thoughts of our neighbors, some of whom hear us, but at the moment I do not, cannot care about their . What I care about is making sure her spine doesn't get crushed like the piano. Thankfully, I'm a good multitasker.

All I care about is keeping her safe, and making her scream. In the good way, of course. Although, if I think about it, I'm giving her a hard time, and a lot of it.

I laugh darkly, realizing that my original plan had been to scream at her, but this is much better. I cover her mouth with mine to swallow her screams as she rides out her orgasm, her heels kicking against my ass as I pound into her and destroy the paint.

"Had enough?" I tease as she shakes and trembles. The air blows cool around us, and I realize that she's transferring so much heat I almost remember what it's like to be human. "You're such a furnace."

"More," she whispers, biting my earlobe gently, and moans right in my ear.

This is what she always does when she's ready for the big finish, because it drives me nuts, every single time. This time I'm already nuts, so the extra push sends me to a place I've never let myself go with her before. I snarl and hiss like the big cats I drained earlier, trapping her in my embrace.

I take her hands and pin them securely above her head, and watch in satisfaction as her eyes widen in anticipation. I kiss the junction of her neck and shoulder, where she smells the sweetest, and smile against her skin.

"You ready?" I ask, my voice low and almost deadly in anticipation.

Like the control freak everyone always accuses me of being, I check her body again, her spine, the wall the window, her blood pressure.

"Please," she begs.

Begging is good.

"Hold on," I grunt, slamming into her with calculated pressure, careful, always careful to check for any physical sign from Bella that she's in pain.

_Gentle, gentle, _I chant internally as her body tightens around mine in every way possible. I bring myself right to the edge and let her push me over. I finally explode, holding her wrists, shuddering and shaking inside her, letting her warmth become mine.

"You okay?" I ask, as we come back to ourselves, lying on the soft rug under the window.

"So good," she laughs. "Never better. Though I think we may have a mess to deal with later."

"I don't just mean now," I say softly, taking paint chips out of her hair. "I mean from everything that happened. I heard all about it in the minds of everyone else. You went through hell today, for me."

She starts crying, and I feel like an ass.

"No, it's okay," she laughs shakily. "I'm just so glad we're okay. I was really worried, Edward, and I was so worried you wouldn't forgive me."

"I'm angry at you for risking your life," I admit. "But I know you did it because you love me. I don't deserve that."

"You'd do it for me," she says softly, so full of trust. I'm just glad she's right.

"You'd be worth it," I whisper. "But from now on, let's stick together and try to both make it out alive? Alice made her point, I swear. You guys don't have to keep things from me."

Even if half her point was that she's alarmingly ruthless and won't hesitate to work around me if she can't work with me.

"Thank god," she breathes. "I _hated_ keeping that from you."

"I'm relieved to hear that," I murmur.

"We're going on tour," she says incredulously.

"I can't wait." I agree. I don't add that I think he's sending us away for the sake of his own temper.

Judging from the general tenor of his thoughts and mine, I think Aro and I need some quality time apart.


	13. The Best Worst Day of His Life Jalice

**The Best Worst Day of his Life**

**Many thanks to AlixMaret for purchasing this for the Fandom Gives Back (yes, she bought two!) Also thanks to Detochkina for always being up for a WC. Both of them pointed out some errors and made helpful suggestions for which I am grateful, but any mistakes are mine. **

**By the way, there are a few people who have bought outtakes and as far as I know haven't decided what they want. If you told me and I forgot, please forgive me and tell me again. I am a dunderhead.  
**

**Kreisler - La Gitana **

youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=gAZp6RIPHds

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"Come on, now. Not today."

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The key turned but his truck engine wouldn't start. Jasper Whitlock had 30 minutes to get to the post office if he was going to make it to campus on time. It was about five million degrees outside, and the black leather steering wheel was too hot to touch for more than 3 seconds.

He took out his cell and looked up one of the other grad students who owed him a favor. The first didn't answer, but fortunately, he had lots of friends. The third person on his list picked up. He looked at her name on the display as she answered, and was happy to see it was his room-mate's girlfriend, who was like a sister to him.

"Sarah, thank God," he said. "I've got a situation that has to be handled today and my truck won't start. Can you cover my 3 O'clock review until I get there? You were a TA for Warbeck's class last semester, right?"

"Sure, but she's going to beat you to a pulp if she finds out," Sarah replied. "She fucking hates me."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"What, that she hates me, or that you'll get in trouble?"

"First, I find it impossible to believe that anyone could hate you. What did you do, insult the Renaissance?"

"Dude, she's part of that Early Music cult. They can't be reasoned with."

Jasper laughed, in spite of his situation.

"Baby girl, if you want to get anywhere in academia you need to learn how to tactfully question, rather than go straight into verbal fisticuffs with a tenured professor."

"How do you make the political stuff look so easy without looking like a kiss-ass?"

"I just pay attention. The cartoons on their office doors usually give everything away. If someone has a huge cartoon titled _Where's Gesualdo, _you probably want to tread lightly, you know?"

"Good to know, way too late."

"It's never too late to start loving the sackbutt. Listen, you usually take the bus, right? Do you know if the Cameron Road shuttle runs on time?"

"Iffy. This time of day it comes every twenty minutes or so. Don't worry, I'll cover you till you get here."

"Thanks, Sarah, I owe you one."

He sighed, hanging up. One problem down, five hundred more to go. This was absolutely the worst day for his truck to crap out on him. An old student newspaper wedged on the passenger's side under a pile of library books had the bus route on it, and he studied it as he grabbed his stuff to take off.

Jasper kicked his door shut, a move that caught his book bag, breaking the strap and sending papers flying everywhere.

"Calm the fuck down, man," he said to himself, gathering the notes and sheet music that had fallen. "It's no big deal."

And it wasn't, that is, until a hot breeze picked up one particular sheet of paper on which he could see the official seal of the University of Texas. The seal told him that it was a critical piece from a set of forms he desperately needed for his applications for doctoral programs.

"Dammit!"

He threw down the bag and chased the fluttering thing half a block before it slipped down into a drain, gone in a flood of cursing, along with his dream of getting a doctorate from an Ivy League school.

JA

Thirty minutes later, he was also missing all of his keys and most of his temper, and decided to at least get back to campus and salvage something of the day. He felt raw, emotionally and physically from his failed attempt to retrieve his documents and a fruitless search in the road and grass for his keys. He had a little scrape on his face from where it had met blistering hot pavement, and the heat of the day had drained him of any desire to do anything but find a cool room and a cold beer.

Until he heard the music.

It was a single violin, melancholic and sultry, just like his mood. Just at the moment he felt the sound connect with his soul in commiseration, it lifted him back up again, both soothing and invigorating.

He had to know who was playing, and he followed the sound instead of the map to the bus route.

The tune was clear, but very strong, and the fingering was wickedly fast. He thought it had to be someone from the music school, and thus likely someone he knew, at least a little. Whoever the violinist was certainly had solid technique, but that wasn't the part that compelled him. There was something stronger than technique- it was a kind of playfulness that he found irresistible. The sound of it pulled him closer- he felt drawn like a snake by a charmer's tune.

He smiled with relief to see that the music was coming from the bus stop he was looking for. A little crowd of students was around the violinist, by now he could see it was a girl. She was short enough to be in high school, a prodigy maybe? He could just make out the flash of her bow, a thin but toned arm, and the slight swish of a long skirt. He had to walk around the crowd to finally see her face, and when he did he knew he had never seen this girl before.

She was drop-dead gorgeous, and there was no doubt he would have remembered her, if he'd had any meaningful interaction with her. From this vantage point he thought she looked old enough to be an upper classman, or even a graduate student, like himself.

She played with passion, a little smile suggested at the corners of her mouth. Her long, inky hair fell in heavy locks around her shoulders, and he wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. With her dark hair and expressive face, she reminded him every bit of a gypsy. She even dressed like one, at least as much as the weather would allow.

She turned slightly, and their eyes met. Hers widened, as if she recognized him, and Jasper worried for a moment. Had they met? Was she one of the three hundred or so students in the Music History class for which he was a TA?

_Please God, not that, _he prayed silently, looking at her perfect mouth, which was now curved into the sweetest, sexiest smile he'd ever seen. _Anything but that. Just let this one thing go right today and I won't complain about anything else. _

The crowd started moving, and he broke eye contact long enough to spot the bus arriving. She finished just as it pulled up to the curb in front of them, and bent down to pocket the few dollars and change her audience had thrown into her violin case.

Jasper hung back so he'd be getting on the bus behind her, and she flashed him the most amazing smile when he politely indicated she should get on first. He felt sucker-punched by the sincerity of her expression, how happiness just seemed to radiate out of her whole being. The bus driver, a much older woman, noticed their exchange, and winked at him.

"Ma'am," he nodded at her politely, as the door shut behind him with a pneumatic wheeze.

The bus was too packed for any of them to find seats, and she held her violin to her midsection like it was a security blanket with one hand as she held on to the back of a seat with the other.

"Kreisler?" he asked, and she looked up at him in surprise. "_La Gitana_, right? The gypsy? It suits you."

"How did you know that? It's pretty obscure."

"I'm in musicology; history's my thing," he explained. "You're really good."

"Thanks," she blushed as the bus lurched unpleasantly.

Jasper was tall enough to lay his hand flat on the interior roof of the bus to steady himself, and stood as close as he could without getting into her personal space. Unfortunately the guy behind her, a squirrely-looking guy with the ubiquitous uniform of fraternity guys everywhere- white t-shirt with greek letters in burnt orange, khaki shorts and a UT baseball cap- didn't have the same scruples, and seemed to be trying to use the crowded bus as an excuse for some nonconsensual frottage.

In other words, he was trying to dry hump this sweet girl right on the monkeyfuckin' bus, and Jasper was going to have to do something. Preferably, something that didn't get him arrested, as satisfying as that might have been.

She kept scooting away and closer to Jasper, but the guy behind her just kept crowdeing her even further. Jasper wanted to glare at him, but the jerk wouldn't look anywhere but at his cell, his smarmy fingers texting rapidly even as he used every sway of the bus as an excuse to jostle her and get closer until there was pretty much no room for Jesus between them.

She flashed Jasper a look of distress, and he nodded, taking this as permission from her to fix the situation. He nodded in the direction he was going to move, and wordlessly, seamlessly, they changed places, moving in a tight pivot.

He stepped between them, which meant elbowing the guy in his soft middle section and stepping firmly on his foot.

"What the fuck?" the little turd yelped. Jasper glared at him until the douche looked like he was about to piss in his over-priced cargo shorts. "That was my foot, man!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," he quasi-apologized in a menacing voice. "You know how that can happen sometimes- you don't see someone and then bam, you accidentally punch their lights out. Happens all the time."

It wasn't something he liked to think about, but he had something of a temper, and had gotten into more than his fair share of fistfights over the years. If he was angry enough, he had no qualms about fighting, and this kid had really pissed him off.

The guy looked at him, hard, but apparently whatever he saw made him back down, muttering and turning his attention back to his phone. In Jasper's experience, most frat guys didn't fight unless they were with their friends, and this one was no exception. He didn't hesitate to use his height to intimidate the guy, and kept glaring at him until the guy turned away, obviously trying to pretend like nothing had happened. Jasper's blood was still up, and he had half a mind to take it out on the creep until he felt a little tug on the back of his shirt.

His gypsy violinist's eyes had appeared almost black, but the bright sunlight revealed them to be, in fact, a deep indigo blue. She gave him another smile, this time small and tentative, full of apologies. It made his stomach hurt, because she obviously wasn't used to people treating her with common fucking courtesy.

"Thanks," she whispered. "I owe you one."

"You don't owe me anything. That guy was being a dick," he informed her, not lowering his voice, but not shouting, either. "Some guys act like they're in a damn strip club 24/7. They should know better."

"Damn straight," said a girl with blond dreadlocks and a nose-ring, briefly looking up from a thick library book.

Bless Austin and its counter-culture.

The bus beeped a few times and slowed to a halt. The dick in question got off, neither at the stop nor in the manner he would have preferred.

"I appreciate it anyway," the violinist continued. "I'm Alice, by the way. Alice Brandon."

She shifted her violin case to hold out her right hand. Her skin was soft but her grip surprisingly firm, and her touch was doing things to him. He was close enough to smell her subtle perfume, something sweet and seductive.

"Alice Brandon," even her name tasted sweet on his tongue. "I'm Jasper-"

"Whitlock, I know," she grinned sheepishly.

His face fell.

"You're not in my music history section, are you? Renaissance to Baroque?"

"No, that's next year," she said, to his great relief. "If I make it past theory, that is. We're only a few weeks in and it's freakin' killing me. The prof is an ass, and I'm thinking of transferring if it doesn't get any better. I was offered a full scholarship at a good music school in the Pacific Northwest. I don't even know why I just _had_ to come here of all places, but it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Jasper wanted to argue that it still seemed like a good idea from where he was standing. In fact, he had a few good ideas of his own, but he didn't want to scare her off just yet.

"Sounds like you need a good tutor."

"Do you happen to know any?"

"I'm better at teaching history than theory," he said, scratching the scruff at his jawline. "But I could definitely help you get through it if you're willing to put in some extra time."

She looked at him speculatively, and Jasper straightened his posture without realizing it.

"What would you charge? I can't afford much right now."

"I was thinking maybe we could do more of an exchange, you know, you teach me, I teach you? I've always wanted to learn the violin." It was more of an exaggeration than an outright lie. Jasper wanted to learn an instrument, but hadn't truly decided between violin and cello until that moment.

They were interrupted as the bus pulled up to the music school and they jostled their way out. Jasper was a little worried that she wasn't interested enough to take him up on the idea, but she turned to him and with one look completely dispelled that notion.

"I don't have my schedule on me right now," she said, her red lips curving into a completely new smile. This one reminded him of candy apples and the state fair. "Maybe you should give me your phone number?"

He grinned and pulled out his phone, only to find a fresh crack in the display screen.

"Tough break," she observed, whisking it from his hand like a pickpocket. He raised his eyebrows when the sound of a Bach violin partita came out of her violin case. "On the bright side, it still seems to work. I'm late for rehearsal. Call me and we can work it out, okay?"

Jasper felt rooted to the spot, watching her in fascination as she started walking quickly toward the orchestra door. As if she felt his eyes on her back, she turned again, and waved, her grin brighter than the sun.

Sarah came out of the double doors to the main hall in front of him, carrying an intimidatingly large stack of papers. She followed his gaze and looked at him curiously, shoving the stack unceremoniously into his waiting hands.

"Surprise, just what you always wanted. Warbeck stopped by and decided you get to grade for all sections. Can't say I didn't warn you. Oh man, you broke your cellphone too? Sounds like your day just keeps getting better and better."

"No good to bitch about it." He chuckled and shook his head slowly, still staring at the door Alice Brandon had just walked through. "I'd say the silver lining was bigger than the cloud in this case."

Sarah poked him in the side.

"Alice Brandon, huh? I've heard her play. Amazing talent, but she's kind of weird, isn't she?"

"I don't think she's weird at all," Jasper frowned at his friend. "I think she's great."

Sarah's eyebrows shot up, but her expression softened.

"Hey, I don't really know her, but I trust your judgement. Looks like today wasn't a total wash after all. You want to talk about it?"

"Sometimes everything happens at once, you know? Let's go find that boyfriend of yours and I'll buy a round. I may need your advice."


End file.
